Necrophilia
by augenxauf
Summary: A tangled web of lovers, friends, and mistakes comes full circle when a snotty blood elf meets an ugly forsakenness.
1. Introduction

^START FYI^

I do not own World of Warcraft, its characters, its themes, its anything. Blizzard does. And… that's all.

Some stuff you need to know: This story may seem a little biased from the Horde perspective. This is because I love the Horde. Also, this isn't going to be a short or flimsy ficcy—I intend to work hard on this and it will be ridiculously long. If you wanna follow an awesome story for a long time, this is it for you. If you want a one shot, this is def. the wrong story for you. Updates tend to run about every other week, while you're waiting I encourage you to read back—see if there's some foreshadowing you missed. I love foreshadowing, and flashbacks. I also love those. I also like my readers to know what's going on—believe me, you'll never be confused as to the setting of the story, haha!

Now go on! Get started!

^END FYI^

*START INTRO*

//SET LOCATION: SILVERMOON CITY

"No, no, no, absolutely wrong," scoffed a dark-haired blood elf, green eyes flashing. "Put it up—I want to look dignified, not wild!" spat he, glaring at his own reflection in the mirror. At present, his hair hung loose around his shoulders.

The small goblin barber, Krank as he was called, barely concealed an eye roll. He transferred out of the Undercity because he thought the undead had bad attitudes. As it turns out, blood elves are far worse, as he was learning much too late. "Yes, of course. What exactly do you want?"

"A pony tail," hissed Negate, as _he _was called.

The goblin's mouth nearly fell open. A pony tail was the exact same as he'd come in with. Wordlessly, he gathered Negate's ebony locks in one hand and began to brush out the kinks. Every stroke of the brush carried a hint of anger—not only was this blood elf particularly annoying, he was also wasting Krank's time. As per the barber's policy, Negate was in for a free haircut. An ingenious idea that only the goblins could think of: waste money by working on the weaklings, so that when they are strong, they return to the only barber shop they're used to—except at that point, they pay a premium fee. While it virtually decimated all competition, in some instances it really wasn't worth it, and this was one of those cases.

The young elfin cause of Krank's irritation seemed satisfied with the preceding of events thus, and leaned forward to admire himself in the mirror. "What a beautiful sight am I…" he cooed lovingly at his own reflection, "even in this stupid bib I am attractive…"

And the statement was true enough. Long, black hair (currently tied back, as per instruction) lifted high to expose the whole of elongated ears, with points toward the sky. A short goatee (as was all this race appeared capable of growing) covered his chin in a stylish cut. Long, high eyebrows hung delicately over the focal point of his face—a pair of eyes glowing green with the taint of arcane magic. Unnaturally muscular for a spell caster (another racial trait) but no where near the mass of an orc or even a human gave him what most would describe as a medium build, though a tiny goblin like Krank might disagree. He was also short in comparison to most humanoids, standing at approximately 5'9''.

His skin was a soft peach color, similar to that of a human, but most of which was covered by red, black, and gold robes marking him as a warlock. At his hip hung an Acolyte's dagger, and Krank seriously considered ramming it through Negate's eye.

"_Raid! Four left!"_ shouted a female tauren outside of the barbershop, interrupting the scheming goblin's thoughts.

"Sounds like a raid!" Krank announced, setting down the scissors, for honest fear of causing accidental-on-purpose harm to his customer. "She'll never find anyone in this ghost town—Just finished trimming the split ends, looks great! A nice guy like you ought to go tell that tauren she's in the wrong city for recruiting!" He said very quickly, pushing Negate up from his seat and ripping off the bib.

"Wait! I've hardly time to examine your work!" insisted Negate, turning back toward the mirror. He didn't pry his sister from his waist with a crowbar for a less-than-perfect style.

"No time—shop is closed!" Krank countered, pushing Negate all the way out of the shop.

"We—but!" Negate turned around, glaring at the store front, but before he could utter any sort of useful protest, his face met with a sign reading "CLOSED FOREVER!" hanging upon the fanciful door.

"Well—I never!" Negate scoffed, turning toward the tauren female; Anrin, she went by. Since he'd already been so rudely cast out, he figured he might as well offer her a bit of advice.

"You there! Anrin!" He called, "I hate to rain on your parade, but this really isn't the best city to recruit within. It's quite under populated these days—I'd recommend Orgrimmar if you're serious about a raid."

"Thank you, but I've already gathered most of my friends. I really only needed four more, and now… it looks like I only need one. Interested?" answered she. As is the way with taurens, her voice was a friendly alto. Her clothes marked her as a shaman: a half shirt and long skirt, exposing softly spotted fur.

"No, no," Negate laughed softly. "I am only—"

"NONSENSE!" called a mage, likewise an elf. "Certainly the finest race in the land could only bring good tidings!"

"No, you don't understand—" Negate began, but was caught off by the tauren.

"Then it's settled," declared Anrin just in time for a stampede of some of Azeroth's finest to appear on the horizon. "Look, here they come now." And, as if on cue, she (and consequently, Negate) were immediately surrounded by the monstrosity of a crowd.

"Great sun!" Negate gasped, trying to avoid elbowing someone as they crowded around. "Isn't anyone paying attention!?"

But it was useless—his voice was small in comparison to the roar of the group. The mood was incredibly patriotic—some of the most well-trained hands in all of Azeroth coming together with one common goal: the demoralizing defeat of Alliance scum, and of course, the pursuit of a war bear, as was customarily rewarded by the Horde to anyone who successfully beat the Alliance down in their own hometowns. The excited, blood-hungry chants only served to increase Negate's urgency to leave, but as he struggled from the crowd, he was prevented passage by the same elfin mage.

"Those are some pretty _nooby_ clothes!" he declared with a cocky laugh. "I like it! No one will suspect you!"

"Suspect me of—ah!" Negate shouted as the crowd began to move forth and, however unwillingly, Negate was pushed and shoved along with it.

//SET LOCATION: DEATHKNELL

Meanwhile, a forsaken rogue named Lisys sat unaccompanied, as was typical. She hadn't many friends in her life, and so the change in her existence affected her perhaps to a lesser extent than other undead. Still, the clear change in the citizens of this town in which she grew up was unsettling, and sometimes it left a loneliness in the pit of her stomach. A complete unwillingness to discuss any type of human emotion had caused simple hurt and dismay to complicate into unabashed hatred and rage in many other forsaken, so Lisys had noticed, and she suspected that to some extent, the same process had begun in her.

But what could be done? Brooding was hardly helpful, her own kind were far detached, and the living most certainly wouldn't understand, provided they could stomach the sight of her at all. Ultimately, it was probably best to let the anger stew until she could put it to use…right?

She shook her head, tiring quickly of all the heavy thinking on the plight of the forsaken. The whole issue, it seemed, was best left to the strong and the intelligent, such as Their Dark Lady, anyhow.

"Oliver!" She called as the like-named Deathguard passed through her field of vision. "Come sit with me, I only want a moment of your time."

"Speak quickly," he hissed, but sat down beside her all the same. "I'm busy."

"I'm curious… where have all the guards gone? I only see you." Lisys asked, undaunted by his manner.

Deathgaurd Oliver snarled at her, as if this question wasn't worth the bother, but once more followed through all the same. "A raid group has stormed through the Orb of Translocation out of Silvermoon City. Sylvanas requested a number of the weaker guards cheer them on."

"Strange…" Lisys mumbled, leaning back on her hands. "Thank you," she said by way of dismissal. She quickly found herself lost in thought once more. Silvermoon? What was it like there?

Oliver stood up with a cackle. "I know what you're thinking," he scoffed. "A hideous thing like you would never fit in there," he spat, as if he did, in fact, know what she was thinking.

Lisys watched Oliver return to his patrol with an unhappy frown, though his statement was true enough—Lisys wasn't exactly a beauty queen. Dirty, dark hair hung perfectly straight on either side of a rotting face. The skin and flesh around her knees and elbows had long sense worn away, simply from bending her arms and legs, and for unexplained reasons, her blackish purple outfit—typical of a rogue—did nothing to cover any of the various bones poking through her skin, including shoulders, pieces of her spine, and both hip bones.

Most horrifying, however, was certainly her unfortunately progressive face rot. Both eyes were missing and left unreplaced by the eerie yellow glow exhibited by some of her brethren—instead she was left with empty sockets hollowed so that she always appeared vengeful and angry. Below, her nose was completely missing, leaving only the triangular depression of her skull, and worse yet, her lips and a good portion of the skin on her jaw had long since decayed. This left every single tiny, cannibalistic tooth exposed, giving Lisys a terrible, demonic appearance.

After watching Oliver for a few moments more, Lisys stood and turned to enter the old, broken-down inn without a word.

*END INTRO*

^START FYI^

I am open to any and all suggestions for improvements, but at this time I do not plan to backtrack or perform any massive re-writes. Still, it's nice to know what could have gone better, for future reference. (:

^END FYI^

_LAST REVISION: 04-01-2010_


	2. Chapter 1

*BEGIN CH1: SIREN*

//SET LOCATION: RUINS OF LORDEARON

"Great sun…" Negate groaned, blearily crawling away from the orb of translocation before standing and observing his surroundings. He'd seen the orb of translocation before—but of course, always from the other side. Back in Silvermoon City, the orb was surrounded by the beautiful aesthetics that were found all over the kingdom.

Here, the orb was surrounded by the depressing ruins that constituted former Lordaeron. The orb itself was a beautiful work of elfin magic, of course: a pinkish purple ball floating between three spell casters carved in pure gold and supported on a like-wise colored platform. Its adjoining scenery, however, consisted primarily of grayish hues and broken memories.

A dedicated chamber encompassed the orb, which was enclosed on three sides by walls, the two opposite of which contained several wooden doors long since locked for eternity. The remaining side held a door much larger than the others which stood open, and beyond was a staircase composed of stone. Approaching the edge of the stone plateau afforded Negate a view of the crumbling courtyard which Negate imagined was once an epicenter of human activity, but now consisted only of crumbling pillars and worn stone walls. The only sign of life, with the exception of wild bushes and unruly grass, was the raid he'd come with.

While the Undercity had been described to Negate in a fair amount of detail in years past, he had never visited himself, and was quickly learning that no matter how vivid, there was no description in the world that could have prepared him for the gloom. So unkempt was this courtyard, he could not resist a wrinkle of his nose—this was hardly the place for a charming gentleman like himself. Still, it was his duty to inform the others that they needed locate a replacement.

"Listen!" Negate begged, turning to the crowd behind him. "I don't think that I—"

His voice was quickly drown out by the sound of thirty-nine whinnies as every member of the raid, except he, produced mounts, leaving Negate alone on the ground, and tenfold frustrated. While cocky, Negate was not wholly unrealistic. He knew his limitations were far surpassed by the task he would be expected to execute in this company, and he was not so selfish as to withhold valiant warriors from victory—particularly not with a few of his own beautiful race among them.

"Excuse me!" he called louder, attempting to hail their attention. Unfortunately, Negate stood low to the ground at only five-feet-seven-inches, and most of the raid were too focused to hear anything while dismounted, let alone while perched an extra 14 hands in the air. Without so much as a glance backwards, the group trotted away, unaware they were less one pair of hands.

Or at least, all but one. An orc warrior named Endian, wearing thick, tough-looking brown (but ultimately plain) armor remained, staring at Negate with narrowed, suspicious brown eyes. "Mount up, warlock!"

"I can't!" Negate grunted, exasperated. "Great sun, I was dragged here against my will and--! Forget it…" he groaned, shaking his head. After several failed attempts to explain the situation, the more appealing course of action was to ignore the whole affair and return home.

"We drafted you by mistake?" Endian asked with a low and scratchy but otherwise friendly voice. "I apologize on our behalf! I can't believe I, Anrin, and the rest of us have been so foolish!"

"Really, it's all right," Negate assured, albeit through gritted teeth. "Now, I'd recommend you find someone to fill my place and catch up quickly."

"It was a noble gesture to call attention to our err!" Endian declared with a grunt of approval. "I will remember this deed… Negate, is it?"

"Indeed," Negate replied wearily. His surroundings appeared to be sucking the very life force from his body. "Endian, it is a pleasure. Hurry—don't miss your battle. And good luck to you."

The orcish warrior spared a friendly wave as he rode away to hunt for Negate's replacement, hopefully in time to catch the other raiders. As soon as he was out of sight, Negate pulled himself up and turned back to the chamber containing the Orb of Translocation, but was startled to find he was not alone.

Leaning against the orb was another of his race, albeit a female mage, as if she'd recently teleported from Silvermoon. He was certain he had never laid eyes upon her before, which was bizarre once the dwindling population of Silvermoon is accounted for, but Negate pushed the thought aside, choosing instead to focus on her appearance.

Even by his racial standards, she was attractive: short blonde hair covered one eye but left full, deep red lips exposed, creating the illusion of mystery. She wore the infamous black Valentine's day dress, with so many cutouts it nearly failed to cover the important places. Generally, Negate preferred something left to the imagination, but in this particular instance, he appreciated the excess view of pale skin.

"That _was _noble of you," said she.

"So you saw that, hm?" Negate asked, folding arms over chest and leaning in the chamber's doorway. Suddenly, the Ruins of Lordaeron were looking… perkier.

"I did," she answered with a soft laugh, a sound akin to the tiny silver bells so popular around Winter Veil. "It was interesting—I've never heard of such a thing—How could no one have noticed that you're not strong enough for a raid?" she teased. "I am not yet ready—but you!"

"Hm," Negate smirked, undaunted. "I was asking that same question. Blood-hungry, I suppose… not that I blame them. Someday, I might go after the bastard Alliance myself."

"But not yet," Fabricate concurred, steadily approaching him. She had an exaggerated manner of walking which caused her hips to sway to an excess, and thus she succeeded in her intended purpose: holding Negate's attention.

"No, not yet." Negate replied, a coy smile over-taking his narrow features. "What is a gorgeous elf like yourself doing… _here_?"

"I've got a friend camping out in the Tirisfal Glades backwoods…" she rolled her eyes, "something about researching the weaker scourge…"

Negate frowned. "Ugh. I see."

"Mmmm, and I promised I'd visit her_ before _she gave me directions…"

"You poor thing," Negate shook his head.

"Oh, and it's a terribly lonely journey…" she cooed sadly. Then, before Negate could sympathize, she added, "Say, why don't you accompany me? This is so embarrassing, but, I'm afraid I have to be honest—I like the look of you," she confessed, covering her mouth daintily with a small hand.

Negate inhaled deeply and closed his eyes, remembering a short time ago, when he could chase skirts to his heart's content. But since the scourge invasion of Quel'Thalas, his time was consumed with keeping his sister in line… _his sister_. His eyes opened again, to find Fabricate smiling innocently up at him, their faces inches apart.

"My apologizes—I must decline," he answered, starting to move around her. "Perhaps another—"

"Oh please?" she cut him off, wrapping her arms around his arm. She set her head upon his shoulder, replacing her innocent expression with one that was anything but. "You really look like you know a good time! And I think you'd like my friend, her and I… we make a good team," she said softly, lifting an eyebrow pointedly.

Negate understood the implication instantly, and all common sense left him. "Lead the way, then."

"I was hoping you'd see it my way!" she squealed, tugging his arm. "C'mon!"

He nodded and responded swiftly, following her as she pulled him away from the orb, around the crumbling statue in the center of the courtyard below, and towards the gate.

"Depressing, isn't it?" she asked.

"That's an understatement," Negate replied, wrinkling his nose distastefully as the pair made their way through the gates and out unto former Lordaeron. It was a comfort to be in the company of his own race, someone who understood his abhorrence to this place. "I can scarcely imagine the Undercity itself."

"Oh," she returned her head to his shoulder, "You've never been?"

He shook his head. "No, only heard it described—from the biased opinion of an undead, no less."

"Do you know where we are now?" she asked.

"Tirisfal Glades," answered Negate, examining his surroundings as he walked down the stone pathway with her, leaving the ruins behind him. "Beyond that, I haven't a clue without consulting a map. Again—it's only ever been described to me."

"Do you have a map?" she asked, feeling around his robes for pockets.

Negate allowed her to feel as much as she pleased before producing the map himself out of his bag. "I do, same as yours I—"

Fabricate took the map from his hand and tossed it behind them, then resumed walking closely with him. "Let's get lost together, okay?" she offered with a devilish grin.

Negate nodded his agreement, and as the path forked in two directions, he and Fabricate walked straight and into the grass, abandoning the road. Negate knew that in all likelihood Fabricate was probably familiar with the area so that it was not really possible for her to become lost—still, he was enjoying the fantasy. It was spontaneous, it was fun, it was living in the moment and doing what felt good at the time. Before the second sacking of their capital, his life was all about impulse. He missed it, and he understood that Fabricate missed it, too. His sister could miss him for a few hours.

A deviation from the path, of course, also meant being surrounded by demonic creatures and scourge: many leaps and bounds stronger than he, and also quite hostile. "Lovely here, isn't it?" Negate asked sarcastically.

Fabricate giggled with a nod. "I'd certainly never vacation here. Where are you from, anyway?"

"Silvermoon City," he answered. "Yourself?"

"The same," she answered with a loving sigh. "But I haven't been home since…"

"I understand," Negate nodded. "You should return. Desolate it may be, but still as beautiful as it always was."

She smiled. "Maybe someday I will… Oh! Stay close to me." She held his arm tighter. "I don't want you to get picked off by one of these… things. You really should get out in the world—you know?"

"I do, I've told myself that for years—I've just never took the time." He answered, and felt a sudden stab of guilt. He'd never to take the time to level up because he was too afraid to leave his sister alone for long—but here was, flirting with a stranger—leaving her alone all the same.

Fabricated flicked his left ear. "Droopy."

"Excuse me?" Negate lifted an eyebrow in her direction.

"Your ears. Is something bothering you?" she asked, physically holding his ears upright between her fingers.

"No," he shook it off, then stopped, groaning. "What is that?" he asked, pointing. In truth, he recognized scourge when he saw them—he simply wanted a change of subject.

Fabricate paused, gazing in the direction of his finger. "Looks like a ravaged corpse to me," she answered.

At present the pair stood atop a grassy hill, looking down on what was once a small farm, but was now a barren field housing no sign of life, only abandoned farm equipment and an old scare crow. Rotting dead and ravaged corpses wandered the area freely, hobbling this way and that.

"Ugh," Negate grunted. "What a view."

"Let's go around the field," she said gently. "I've really no desire to roll in the dirt with the scourge today."

Negate was relieved. Truth be told, he didn't feel like rolling in dirt with the scourge any day. He took her hand in his left, and with his right checked that his ears were standing upright again. He took some control over their path at this point, careful to steer wide turns around any undeads they passed.

"They bother you that much, hmm?" she teased.

"It's the road again," Negate noted, ignoring her question as they crossed a stone path like the one they'd abandoned not long ago. Behind them stood the broken down farmhouse, and to their left, an old covered bridge. "How far have we traveled so quickly?"

"Excellent!" Fabricate smiled wickedly. "My friend is just over this way!" she shouted excitedly, pulling Negate by his wrist along the grass. She tugged him down a slope, at the bottom of which was a small pool of water. He was almost startled by her passion.

"Here it is!" she called happily. "Stillwater Pond, she should be here shortly."

Negate surveyed his surroundings with a frown. The pond was small enough and of clear water, possibly the best campsite if one ignored the scourge running about. However, he saw no sign that lead him to believe anything living had stopped by in a long time.

"Are you sure she's here?" Negate asked, looking this way and that.

"She said she'd meet me here," Fabricate answered with a shrug.

"You said she was camping here?" Negate reminded, raising his eyebrows.

"Same thing…" she replied, and then, before Negate could protest, she took him forcefully by the shoulders and drew him close. "Maybe we should get started without her."

Negate's eyes instinctively wandered down, watching her lips. "Out here?"

"Does that bother you?" she asked.

Negate shook his head. He'd always been open to experimentation.

"Perfect." She breathed, before pushing him down forcefully.

"Omph!" Negate grunted in surprise, wondering if perhaps she was getting a bit carried away. Furthermore, she'd pushed him half way in the water, and he wasn't really interested in rolling around in pond muck. He opened his mouth to say something, but before anything would come out, she threw her entire body on him and pushed his head under water.

The air exploded out of Negate's lungs, causing tiny bubbles to rise to the surface as he struggled against her. Thrusting his elbows beneath him, he barely managed to push his face above the water. "What… on earth…" he coughed. "I don't think… this is something… I want to try!" he barely managed.

"Silence, fool!" she hissed. "I will kill you and drain your magic. Now die!"

Negate's irises widened to cover the whole of his eyes. "You can't be—serious! There are better—ways—to obtain—magic!"

"None so pure as another of our kind!" she replied. "Now stop breathing!" she ordered, raising a hand to cast a frostbolt to slow his struggling.

Negate gasped sharply as the ball of magic ice penetrated his ribcage, spreading the cold through his veins in an instant. The chill compressed Negate's heart, caused him to lose his hold in the mud, and he fell back under. As darkness began to settle in, he couldn't help but scoff at the idea of dying in such an absurd way—at the hands of this wench in the shallow end of a pond surrounded by low-level scourge.

He needed an aversion, a distraction somehow: anything to take her attention from him, even for just a little while.

_Jublop… _he thought, remembering the imp he hadn't seen since he obtained the annoying creature years ago. Focusing all of his attention in his hands, he moved the water and the energy therein with agile fingers, causing the demon to appear with an eerie cackle. Fabricate did not appear to hear the being, which was fine with Negate. As soon as the imp saw the threat to his master, he set upon attacking—a protective impulse Jublop had no control over.

"What!?" Fabricate squeaked in surprise as a small fireball struck her in the shoulder. She released Negate temporarily, looking this way and that for the source. It did not really harm her—actually Negate was surprised the creature actually managed to hit her—it was more of an annoyance, like a surprise slap on the back. Negate knew this, but wasn't all too concerned. All he needed was a split second for her to lose her grip.

As soon as her hands left him, Negate pushed against the bottom of the pond hard, thrusting his face back into the open air for a breath. Coughing, he attempted to suck as much air into his lungs as possible before turning and pushing himself back into the water, scrambling first, then swimming as far away as elfinly possible.

He reached the other side in no time due to the strength he derived from his desperation to survive the evil wench, and scrambled out of the water, slipping on mud and slop.

He spared the briefest glance backwards to see Fabricate choking the life out of the small creature before moving forward again. He didn't stop running until he hit a road, and even then only paused briefly to pick a direction: Left, towards Deathknell.

//SET LOCATION: DEATH KNELL

"_Miss Andy? Miss Andy?" Lisys asked quietly._

The undead don't dream much—they only entertain quiet memories and vivid hallucinations in the phase between sleep and awareness. Eyes closed, Lisys was thinking about a warm scene from life.

"_Miss Andy!" Lisys called. Lisys had dark hair, although it was longer then, and while she wasn't pretty, she wasn't hideous either. The woman sleeping on the desk before her looked similar (except she was indeed pretty), with likewise dark hair, albeit short. Everyone in the town was impressed with how similarly they looked and insisted they must somehow have been related, even though it couldn't have possibly been true. Still, it was their likeness that caused them to notice one another in the first place, and such was how Lisys had come to make the only true friend she _thought _she'd ever have._

"_Mmmm, I'm up, dear," Miss Andy replied, slowly lifting her head. She picked silver-rimmed specials off of the desk beside her and placed them upon her face, brushing the hair out of her eyes, in one fluid motion._

"_You're working too hard," Lisys frowned. "I'm not going to find you any more books if you're going to lose sleep over them," she informed sternly._

"_Alright, alright," Miss Andy waved her complaints off. "I suppose I'll take a break then. Come for a walk with me?"_

A crack of thunder cut Lisys's memory short, and caused her to sit with a start.

"Ohhhh…" she groaned. "Nooooo…" she spared the window one glance before laying down again, straining to reproduce the memory. A walk, Miss Andy was proposing a walk… and then…

But it was useless, the memory had already gone. With an unhappy frown, Lisys pushed herself upright once more. Miss Andy was a close friend that appeared in their town early one morning on the eve of Lisys's 16th year, but woefully disappeared four years later. Still, even in that short time, Lisys considered Miss Andy the closest, dearest friend she'd ever had, and had long since meant to pay last respects. In all likelihood, the woman's grave was located within Tirisfal Glades somewhere. Miss Andy had mentioned, once, that she was born in Brill, which seemed like a logical place to start. Most people preferred to be buried where they were born, it seemed.

The problem was, Lisys had never been outside of this town by herself before, not even in life, and her map-reading skills were… dismal. And even aside from all that, she was not yet strong enough to make the journey, and the way things were going, she probably never would be.

Still, sitting around accomplished nothing, and after a few minutes of hard thought, she stood up, picked up her dagger, and strode out of the dreary inn she'd called home for years now.

The rain was coming down hard as Lisys exited. This place, Tirisfal Glades, was always prettier in the rain. Now that the whole of the wood was infested with plague and the sky was permanently tinted with a hazy green, it _only_ appealed to her in the rain. Furthermore, now that it did not chill her as it used to, it was a pleasantry to walk in the rain, and the disappointment of her unfinished memory began to wane.

She knew that Brill was along the north road, so she walked along that direction, in no particular hurry. No one asked where she was going or, more than likely, even noticed she was leaving—typical of undead culture—even as she passed several deathgaurds at the timber spike gate that separated the inhabitable south side of town from the scourge-infested north end.

Walking down this road forced Lisys to smile as she passed what was once her house, though her smile quickly faded when she noted it was now over-taken by a couple of rattle cage skeletons. Turning her head forward, she felt the depression of change weighing on her heavily despite her best attempts to ignore it.

Winding through the mindless scourge, she couldn't help but be reminded of the same old fact that always struck her on these walks: she needed to leave this place. Her days here were similar enough to remind her of life—many of the same people, many of the same buildings—but different enough to cause her ache at some of her better memories, then agony to recall some of the bad. The whole dilemma was enough to make her head hurt, and pain her it did until a rustle in the bushes brought her back from her thoughts.

"Oh…" she mumbled, looking down at her feet with an unhappy frown. Judging by the over-grown, mossy condition of the stones she stood upon, she had abandoned the real path and was on her way to becoming completely lost. She should have known leaving was a bad idea—Lisys always ended up lost and alone in an area were the creatures were simply too tough for her. Feeling hopelessly stupid, she looked this way and that, hoping to see someone, or a sign, something to tell her which way to go. Much to her surprise, another rustling in the bushes signaled her answer would come as the former.

"Who's there!?" Lisys ordered, drawing her dagger.

"Wicked siren took my map…" hissed a voice in return.

"…Excuse me?" Lisys asked, then fell silent as a man—a living man, no less—crawled forth from the brush. He did not appear to have heard her, which was all right with Lisys; years of undeath had made her suspicious of the living. Still, she wasn't sure the last time she'd seen a living being, and he was such a pretty sight that she caught herself staring.

He had long, dark hair, with an illustrious sheen Lisys liked to imagine she enjoyed once upon a time. At first, she thought perhaps he was a human, but as he stood she noticed the elongated ears marking him as elfin. The elves were something she was fairly certain she'd never seen up close, although they'd been described to her before; and using her sense, she guessed he was a warlock named Negate—not much stronger than she.

Upon the realization that he would soon take notice, Lisys turned her back quickly and prepared to run away. She had no desire to speak to the living, regardless of how pretty he was, but it was too late—he'd already caught sight of her.

"You there!" he called, with a regal quality to his voice that suggested he was not used to being ignored. "Could you tell me into which hell hole I've crawled?"

Lisys stopped mid-step, bringing her arms across her chest, unsure of what she should do. It was incredibly rude to just run off—besides, he was lost just as she was. "You're… you're north of Deathknell, I think…" she answered, uncertain. It was her sincerest wish that her answer would suffice, and he would continue on, leaving her in peace.

Unfortunately for her, Negate would have none of it. He was tired and had almost died three times in the course of one day: once at the hands of a magic-crazed elf on her way to wretchedness, and then twice at the hands of different darkhounds as he fled through the trees. He would settle for no maybes, and the uncertainty in her voice caused him alarm. More than anything, he wanted to go home.

"Well, don't you have a map… Lisys?" Negate demanded, striding toward her.

Lisys winced. If he hadn't noticed the exposed bloodied bones of her joints already, he would certainly see she was undead if he saw her face, and it concerned her. Other Forsaken were not so repulsed by one another—after all, most of them were not pretty—but another race would certainly take issue, especially with she: one of the ugliest.

"Yes… would… would you like to see it?" she asked.

"Yes, if I may," he answered, staring at her queerly. This young rogue was behaving strangely, and it further unnerved him. He began to walk around to face her front.

Lisys clenched her teeth as she bent her head, digging through her bag. Perhaps he wouldn't react adversely. Perhaps this was a hearted young man who would look upon her with kindness. Perhaps he would know exactly where they were upon consultation of an atlas, and perhaps they could help one another find their way through this wood together. Wish in one hand…

"What's this?" Negate lifted a long, elegant eyebrow. He finally noticed that the bones in her elbows were exposed, marking her as an undead. He was surprised, though he wasn't sure exactly why—former Lordaeron, after all, houses more plague victims than anywhere else. "Ah, you're Forsaken," he noted without much fuss.

A great relief swept Lisys. He didn't appear to mind. Locating the map, she held it out towards him, raising her head and quickly tossing her hair from her eyes. "Here you are. Actually, I was hoping that you could help me—"

"Good Gods!" Negate cried, jumping backwards. "What kind of unholy creature are you!?"

Lisys quickly dropped her head once more. Of course—he didn't mind _until he saw her face_. "I'm sorry! I didn't mean to startle you…"she answered, albeit half-angrily.

"Then you should wear a sack over your face of some sort!" Negate insisted, outraged. The second her empty eyes left him, he felt a great relief. "Great sun, you're not going to eat me, are you!?"

Lisys scowled at the ground. Rolling up the map, she replaced it within her bag, flung it over her shoulder, and wordlessly stood, moving past him.

"Wait!" Negate demanded. "Where are you going?"

"I don't think we'll be much help to one another," Lisys answered coldly, without stopping.

Panic rose within Negate. If he didn't acquire some sort of assistance, he was going to be stuck in this nut-country. "Wait!" he shouted, following her quickly.

She ignored him until he made a grab at her arm, but released it just as quickly, having accidentally touched the exposed bone. Even though the touch was short-lived, the feeling it gave her was powerful enough to stop her in her tracks. She hadn't touched a living being, not since she'd been dead, and never since then had she felt such warmth.

"What?" she hissed, turning to face him once more.

He winced openly at her appearance, causing her to begin to turn away again, but he grabbed her shoulder and held it firmly this time. "I don't mean to be rude," he said honestly. "It's just that… well… you're hideous."

As soon as he'd finished the last syllable of the insult, a heavy sword came down upon his shoulder like a lightning bolt from the sky. Lisys jumped backwards as it knocked Negate face down onto the mossy stone pathway. Behind him stood a rattlecage soldier with eerie, glowing red eyes, wearing full armor—probably the same he'd worn in life. Lisys drew her dagger, but knew instantly her hopes of defeating him were slim—he was far too strong.

She had two options to consider: turn and leave Negate to die, which he deserved, or help him get away. She heavily considered the first option, but couldn't bring herself to let him go, not now that he was helpless… and quiet. Something about the vitality she felt when his fingers touched her, literally beneath her skin, on her very bones, flooding her insides with warmth…

She stabbed the creature quickly, taking his attentions away from Negate, then bent down, grabbing his arm. "Come on!" she ordered, pulling at him.

Negate climbed to his feet, daring not turn around to face the creature as a sword nearly clipped his head, instead striking Lisys. It dazed her, but she did her best to ignore it, pulling him along behind her in a half-run. He sucked in air as quickly as he could as he followed her, keeping close track of her condition, in case he needed to redirect the creature's attention to himself.

"Are you some kind of trouble magnet?" she asked as they sprinted down the path together, literally running for their lives.

"Something like that," he answered breathlessly. "Are you some kind of rot magnet?" he spat in return, though he was not offended. In reality, he was surprised—and somewhat relieved—that she was helping him.

Actually finding this remark marginally clever, she smiled very lightly "Something like that," she answered, slowing as they reached a fork in the path. "I think he stopped following us…"

Negate turned around, glancing down the road. "So it appears—what was that, anyway?"

"A rattle cage soldier," Lisys answered, a bit breathless.

Negate's face fell, and he turned back to face the direction from which they came wildly. If there was one thing he couldn't stand…

"I have to get out of here," he breathed.

"Oh…" Lisys breathed, examining a sign, paying little attention to Negate. "Deathknell is this way…"

"What do you mean by that?" Negate asked, stepping closer to her, albeit not too close. "Don't tell me you were honestly lost."

"I…" Lisys began, but didn't finish.

"You were, weren't you?" Negate asked, laughing openly at her misfortune.

"So were you!" she countered testily.

"I haven't a map to consult!" he countered with another mean-spirited laugh. "And you probably live here, don't you?"

Lisys didn't answer, which was all the answer he needed. It surprised her to see how quickly she was regretting her earlier decision to save him. She should have let him die, or at the very least, let the skeleton hit him a few more times.

"What a pitiful existence you lead!" he declared. "A rogue should conjure images of precise assassins and deadly thieves… not little girls lost in the woods!" he mocked, but as he spoke, the wheels , in his head were turning. It was clear by the strength of the creature that had struck him mere moments ago that he wasn't going to get out of this place without the battle-wrought experience required to face the creatures between where he now stood and the Undercity. It was a well-known fact that traveling in company is much easier than traveling alone—if he could enlist this Forsakenness's help, he'd reach the Undercity faster, from where he could return home via the Orb of Translocation. This girl wasn't pretty, that much was true, but he wasn't planning on laying with her (pretty girls was part of what got him in trouble in the first place) and he'd always been partial to rogues.

"However!" he added suddenly, before she could respond, "I am willing to party with you."

"What?" Lisys asked, caught off guard.

"To group," Negate answered impatiently. "We'll both become stronger quickly if we form an alliance."

"Who said I was looking to get stronger?" Lisys asked, turning away from Negate and starting down the path.

Negate frowned, following her quickly. "Why else would you come out here?"

"That isn't any of your business." She answered firmly.

"Well enough," Negate agreed. "But certainly you don't want to remain at such a dismal level forever?"

Lisys didn't answer him, and didn't stop, either.

"Certainly you don't want to be stuck in this depressing place!" Negate half-shouted, frustrated. It was completely beyond him why anyone would refuse his company.

"Maybe I like it here." She answered testily.

"Lisys, please?" Negate half-pleaded, half growled, running ahead of her to stop in her path. As much as he wanted to avoid including her in his personal business, he didn't see any other option. To him she seemed kind-hearted for a Forsaken, so he would try his luck with the truth. "I left my little sister alone in Silvermoon City—if I don't return soon, she'll panic."

Lisys stopped finally, sighing. He was annoying, but perhaps he could be just as useful to her. She wanted to pay respects to Miss Andy, and someday she hoped to be useful to the Dark Lady. Learning her bearings could help her read maps better, give her a running start, and close the open wound that was her uncertainty in regards to her old friend. "I am currently looking for something. I think it is located somewhere within Tirisfal Glades," she said finally.

A smug grin spread across Negate's face. "Well, you certainly can't hope to wander Tirisfal Glades by yourself as weak as you are now. Clearly it's destiny! We need one another. We both need to get stronger, partying is the quickest way. I'll even help you look for this 'something' if you'll help me get home."

"And how long will that take?" She asked, considering.

"Not long at all. Five days, tops." He answered.

"Five days…" she repeated, "And then I'll never have to see you again?"

He laughed out loud. "The irony! Yes, five days, and I'll never grace your pathetic eye sockets with my beauty ever again."

She thought quietly, long enough for Negate to think she'd forgotten him, before answering.

"Deal," she said.

Negate grinned and extended his hand by way of invitation.

*END CH1: SIREN*

_Last revised & updated 4-22-09_


	3. Chapter 2

*BEGIN: CHAPTER 2*

//SET LOCATION: SILVERMOON CITY

"Helloooooo?" demanded a small blood elfin girl with a high, swishy pony tail. Her call echoed all throughout the pushily-decorated Wayfarer's Rest Inn.

The majority of Silvermoon City was sleeping warm in their beds, just beyond walls of white and pastel hues. The whole of the blood elfin capital was beautiful, surrounded by warm magics forcing the otherwise extreme northern climate to embrace eternal spring: all a façade to trick other races—and even the blood elves themselves—that everything was ay-oh-kay. A quiet night breeze winded softly through purple-transparent doorway curtains and ruffled Negatory's black hair and long eyebrows.

At current, the girl wore rust-colored leather clothing with brown boots and shoulders. Her top left a slim midriff exposed, but she otherwise dressed modestly. Her tiny height, barely reaching five foot, caused people to constantly mistake her for a much younger girl than she actually was.

"Negate!" she hissed impatiently with a small voice that seemed to contribute to the illusion that she was no more than a teen. "I've got dinner! … That's food, moron!" she rose her voice, irritated, poking her head in this or that room and groaning each time her search ended fruitlessly. She shifted a basket around on her arm as loudly as she could, as to provide evidence that she had come accompanied with the aforementioned nourishment, but to her dismay, nothing she tried seemed to be working.

Finally she crossed her arms and shouted. "Your asshole friend already told me you're staying here, so don't try to hide!" she blurted, but to no avail. For several moments, her cry merely echoed around desolate hallways before finding itself replaced with the joyous conversation of two drunks as they stumbled in down the stairs.

"Speaking of…" Negatory whispered to herself, moving to peer over the railing.

Staggering toward the stairs was an elfin paladin accompanied by an orcish warrior, arms around one another for support. Both were an impressive sight individually; together they were almost a representation of power itself.

The orc, Endian, was new to Negatory, and she was immediately impressed with him. A typical white shirt loosely concealed tree-trunk biceps and a broad chest. Plain brown pants completed his unassuming ensemble, however, Negatory could clearly sense he was not to be reckoned with.

Starkly pale next to Endian's green skin was Vaschel Dauntlight, the blood knight, with whom Negatory was unfortunately _quite_ familiar with. He was wearing what she knew to be his favorite outfit—a pirate costume consisting of a plain white loose shirt, black pants with a red sash, and of course, a decorative eye patch covering one brilliant green eye. His hair, ultra-platinum blonde, was left loose around wide shoulders. At nearly 6'2'', he easily cleared the typical height cap for one of his race. Like Endian, Vaschel had long surpassed all available training, placing him among some of the most skilled warriors in Azeroth.

"You… you're a good man!" declared the orc, smiling broadly to reveal pointy incisors. "And this was way better than… heehee… than a raid!"

Vaschel smirked, hazy-eyed. "And you… you're a good man… hold your liquor like… like a… good man!"

"Now, let me say…. Let me say this," the orc swallowed dramatically as if what he was about to say carried great weight upon him as he and Vaschel helped one another up the stairs. "We orcs… we were a little bit on theeeee reluctant side, but now, I know… you're good people."

"Let's be friends forever!" Vaschel demanded, walking right past Negatory without notice. "You're a good man!" he added, planting a kiss on Endian's cheek.

Negatory sighed, rolling her eyes. It seemed that any time Vaschel had any alcohol in him whatsoever, he had to kiss someone. She pitied poor Endian.

Endian, however, was too moved from the proposal of friendship to care. "For the Horde!" he shouted, throwing back his stein to take another drink.

"For the Horde!" Vaschel mimicked, doing the same. "Now you… you can stay right here," he ordered, shoving aside the doorway curtains to a room. "Stay here and sober up… we will drink more tomorrow!"

"Farewell!" Endian replied, blissfully trotting into the room to collapse on the bed.

"G'bye!" Vaschel replied, then turned around to finally take notice of tiny Negatory standing in the hallway, hands on her hips.

"Oh! Tory!" Vaschel greeted, red-faced. "That orc in there… good man!" he leaned back against the wall, smiling ridiculously. "Was lookin' for another hand in a raid but… but I was drunk! So instead of sending him off, I asked him to… hic… 'scuse me! I asked him to drink summore with me!" Vaschel explained.

"That's very kind of you," Negatory replied impatiently, shifting the heavy basket to the crook of her arm.

"Hey… Is there food in that basket?" Vaschel asked, ripping the object away from her. Before she could protest, he flipped open the lid and began to rifle through its contents. "Mmm, sandwiches…"

"Not for you!" Negatory shouted, but before she could reclaim the basket, he'd already shoveled half its contents into his mouth.

"This'll help me sober up!" Vaschel declared with an excited belch.

"You're so mean," Negatory sighed. "And you lied to me. Nate isn't here."

"I didn't lie!" Vaschel countered, a little too loudly, discarding the empty basket on the floor. "He _was_ staying here… perhaps he is out drinking!"

"He's not out drinking," Negatory argued. "He only does that with you, and you were out drinking with that orc."

Vaschel narrowed his eyes at her. "What's your point?"

"Help me look for him?" Negatory asked with a soft whimper.

"Mmm…" Vaschel closed his eyes, thinking. He swayed back and forth slightly until he opened them again. "…No."

Her face fell. "Vaschel!" she whimpered, doing her best to look pathetic. She didn't expect that her puppy-dog eyes would work on him, they never did, but she would try it anyway.

"A good-looking man like Negate is probably out getting himself some action!" Vaschel shouted. "What is he, twenty? When I was twenty, all I did was—"

"I'm 20!" Negatory interrupted, whining. "Nate is 35."

"What? Oh, well… when I was 35, all I did was look for action!"

"That's still all you do!" Negatory spat almost hatefully.

"I drink, too," Vaschel merely grinned, undaunted by her anger.

"Vaschel!" Negatory pleaded. She grabbed for his hand and set it to the side of her tiny face, then flipped her bottom lip over in a powerfully sad expression. "Pleeeaase? What if he's somewhere hurt?"

"He's fine!" Vaschel grunted, pulling his arm away. "Besides, I'm still dizzy…" he reminded, putting a hand to his forehead, but removed it just as quickly, as if some forgotten fact of great importance had suddenly manifested itself within his brain. "But we certainly can't leave you here alone!"

"What?" Negatory asked, faux pout dropping instantly.

"Some man could come take advantage of you! Besides, Negate would hate me if he knew I left you alone! We better find Phasilica," Vaschel deduced, locking his hand around her wrist.

"Nooo!" Negatory pulled, stubborn donkey style, away from him. "I am not a baby! I'll be okay! …And I need to go find him!"

"You need to stay the night with Phasilica!" Vaschel repeated. "All I'm doin, is…." Vaschel burped, then exhaled. "All I'm doin' is tryin' to make sure I don't lose any friends over this," he informed her, but she continued to resist, forcing him to resort to more extreme measures. He bent down slightly and scooped the small girl up and over his shoulder, sack-of-potatoes style.

"Noooo!" She howled, squirming.

"Now, if it looks like I'm going to fall…" Vaschel slurred, beginning down the stairs, "…catch me."

"…That doesn't even make sense!" Negatory cried. "This isn't fair! Vascheeeeel!"

//SET LOCATION: DEATHKNELL

"Great sun!" Negate gasped, jumping back from the door frame. He had just finished summoning his imp and was preparing to look for Lisys in the hallway only to be surprised by the very girl he seeked already standing in the doorway.

"I… I apologize," he groaned, putting a hand to his breathless chest. "Your horrifying face startled me." Furthermore, though he'd never admit to it, he still felt unnerved from spending an entire night listening to the horrible sounds of a regular evening in Tirisfal Glades. The deathgaurds worked tirelessly, it seemed, slaying shambling horrors mere yards from where he now lay his head.

Lisys shook her head with a sigh. Of course it was back to her face. "I saw a purple light and got curious, I didn't mean to startle you…" she muttered.

"Ah, right, that's fell energy," he explained, sitting on the edge of the bed as if still out of breath. "I use it to summon my imp."

"Your what?" Lisys asked, tilting her head. Tentatively, like a child crossing a threshold from which they know they are forbidden, she stepped quietly into the room. If she allowed herself to think about the situation, Lisys knew she had more rights to this room than he. After all, it was where she had always stayed before he showed up and kicked her out, forcing her instead to sleep in the hall.

"This thing," Negate answered, reaching down his side of the bed, producing a small creature named Jublop. He held the demon affectionlessly by the left horn in a careless way that suggested he held little regard for it.

Lisys examined Jublop. He was a tiny, ornery-looking beast with a green, surreal light about its body. Imps were not completely unfamiliar to her, she had seen one or two in passing, but never up close.

In turn, the imp examined her. "Are _you _a demon?" it asked in a rude cackle.

"It's…charming." Lisys scowled, not bothering to dignify the little beast with an answer.

Negate flinched, half-hiding behind a bed post He found her usual expression alarming enough, but any sort of scowl or frown seemed to multiply this effect tenfold. "Anyway," he cleared his throat, "Shadow Priest Sarvis—you said yesterday that he has work for us?"

"Ah, well, he should. Olvier said he's always looking for help beating back the mindless zombies," Lisys answered.

Negate shuddered. "Excellent, more undead," he groaned, shaking his head. It wasn't that Negate hated or even disliked the undead. He considered them a great and powerful ally, and he had witnessed first-hand the efforts of the Forsaken sent by Lady Sylvanas to rebuild his own city. Without their help, Silvermoon would lay in shambles yet. Nevertheless, he had never been in an area where they so greatly out-numbered him, and he found it stressful.

"Well, let's go then," he added, grabbing his bag from the nightstand.

Lisys walked beside him out the door. "I forgot to ask," she remarked, trying not to look at him, lest he start on another rant about her face. "How'd you get here, anyway?"

Negate smirked, eagerly snatching an opportunity to boast. "A raid mistook me for a powerful warrior and escorted me, however unwillingly, to the Undercity."

"You expect me to believe that nonsense!?" Lisys cackled on their way down the stairs. She knew little of raids, except that they required a person of great strength and skill, which meant no first levels at the very least.

"It's the truth!" Negate insisted as he stepped with her out the main door. "A large group of friends met in Silvermoon City, picked me up, and dragged me to this pathetic wood via the Orb of Translocation in the Undercity!" he elaborated more realistically, gesturing angrily with his hands.

"That is the stupidest story I've ever heard!"Lisys contended through another laugh, shaking her head. "You're not some kind of scam artist, are you?"

"Absolutely not!" Negate answered, pausing to stand with her in the middle of the Deathknell church, either of them completely ignoring its inhabitants, the very people they'd come to see. "As charming as I am, I should say I hardly need to scam anyone!"

"Then how did you end up here in Deathknell from the Undercity?" she scoffed.

Negate opened his mouth to answer, but Jublop interrupted. "An evil witch tricked him!" the beast cackled maniacally.

"What?" Lisys asked, raising her brow ridges before scowling down at the little creature.

"Ugh!" Negate jumped back. "_Please _quit making that face! It's especially terrifying!"

"Ah-hem!" interjected Shadow Priest Sarvis himself, interrupting their bickering.

"What?" they asked in unison, tones full of irritation as they turned to face the old undead. All vexation quickly left both parties, however, as one glance at him reminded them of what they'd come for.

"You came for work?" Sarvis snarled. "I'll not have you idiots disturbing the peace in my church. State your damn business, then get out." He ordered. The old priest was, much to Negate's dismay, probably uglier than Lisys. Thick, blunt claws compared to Lisys's small, needle-like talons on large hands gave him the appearance of a deranged murderer. His robes were mostly red and unassuming, which left for more attention to be paid to his head—thinning hair unable to conceal two thick leather straps encompassing his face, obscuring his eyes, and a long, wet tongue that hung from his jawless mouth.

Negate narrowed his eyes, a combination of disgust and curiosity clear on his narrow features. "How does he speak so eloquently with no jaw?"

"Shh," Lisys ordered. "Yes, we're here for work."

The old priest glared distastefully between the two. "As you are well aware, the northern half of this town is completely over-run with mindless scourge. Deathknell wages constant war on the heathens. Go thin their numbers—kill at least eight mindless and wretched corpses, then return to me."

"What's in it for us, exactly?" Negate questioned.

"Some armor and a few copper," answered Sarvis. "Now make haste! You will not go far in life if you cannot kill even the weakest zombies."

"Of course," Lisys whispered, turning and leaving the church without a backward glance.

Negate trotted after her, his mind instantly returning to their earlier argument. "You believe me, don't you?" he asked.

Lisys turned his story over in her head, thinking quietly before replying. "I suppose," she sighed, reaching behind her to pull her map from her bag. In truth, she wasn't sure what she believed—but he had no reason to lie, and she really just wanted to get started. "Everything we need to kill is north."

"So this way," Negate pointed out the direction on the map. "You're holding this upside down. Are you sure you've lived here your whole life?"

"I know where to go," she frowned. "I'm just not so good with a map."

"Then perhaps I should take it?" he offered, reaching out to pull the parchment from her. "It will probably bring us better fortune if I read it."

"What happened to your map?" Lisys asked, replacing her bag on her shoulder.

"The witch took it!" Jublop screeched, painfully reminding the party of his presence.

"Witch?" Lisys tilted her head. "What is this 'witch' I keep hearing about?"

Negate placed the heel of a cloth boot on the small imp's head and gave a hard press downward until it's little legs gave and it collapsed into the dirt with an unhappy scream.

"He's just kidding," Negate said, turning his attention back unto Lisys. Fabricate was an embarrassing story of which he figured Lisys would not be very understanding. "Now, shall we begin?"

Lisys stared at Negate suspiciously for a long moment before finally nodding and turning north once more.

Pausing only to send Jublop a warning glare, Negate kept pace with her, passing timber spike gates that helped defend the inhabitable part of town from the north half, where the scourge had long since rooted themselves.

While the south was ungodly, with its boarded-up buildings and quietly sinister Forsaken dwellers, the northern end was the stuff of nightmares. Gory dead bodies wandered this way and that, green, gray, and red hues dotting their mottled flesh. Some of the recently risen were tolerable; their eyes glowed a soft white and their mouths stood agape in an expression Negate would describe as sorrowful and forlorn. He imagined they retained some piece of their humanity, however unable they were to access it.

Other corpses were so far gone they were not corpses at all, merely clean, animated bones clinging to whatever pathetic weaponry they had held in life.

It was those in between stages that disturbed Negate the most, though he found all quite unsettling. With red, tainted eyes and filthy hair, these more unfortunate souls had decayed well beyond the elf's imagination. It was as if Mother Nature had rejected these creations herself, turning their flesh into a soft, jelly substance to be washed away little by little in the rain. Most were missing at least an arm, if not more, and hungry mouths hung loose. Even though Negate knew these creatures to be weak, and even though he was well aware their horrifying eyes had more than likely long lost their vision, he was extremely unnerved by their manner of desperately searching all around them in an intense animalistic paranoia as they shuffled around in no particular direction.

"Be careful," Negate ordered Lisys, doing his best to keep his mind on the task itself instead of its nature. "Plenty of nitwits have spent hours wandering the countryside in search of their bodies simply because they couldn't take it slow."

"Alright."Lisys answered with some irritation. She pulled a throwing ax from the bag on her back. "Should we get started?"

Negate winced and took a step back as a mindless zombie shambled too close for his comfort. "Whenever you're ready," he replied, silently commanding Jublop to attack the poor, stupid creature.

On instinct, the zombie turned and retaliated, slapping Jublop with a bony hand as hard as it could. Given the limited strength of these pitiful creatures, Negate never would have believed in the might of the scourge army if he had not witnessed it first-hand. He figured these poor heathens were simply cannon fodder.

Lisys turned away from Negate, and she killed without effort. In the back of her mind, she was woefully aware that some of these rotting creatures had known her—maybe grown up with her—in the not-so-distant past. Fortunately or unfortunately, as the lowest rung on the scourge ladder, most of them were rotted beyond recognition. She wasn't quite sure if she even wanted to recognize them. Could she still murder the undead if she knew them as her neighbors? It was easy to put these nameless creatures to rest—but could she rely on herself to end the misery of someone she truly cared for?

Part of her hated them for their suffering, for their lack of will, and for the fact that she was once amongst them.

"That's enough of the mindless," Negate called, jerking her free of lala land. "Focus on the wretched instead."

"Right," Lisys agreed, peering around old, long-abandoned houses.

Negate looked this way and that as well, hunting for wretched zombies—the aforementioned 'middle of stages' zombies, rotted more so than what was called "mindless," but not yet skeletons.

"There's one," Negate smirked, setting Jublop to attack.

Despite Jublop's feelings for Negate, which teetered between extreme dislike and abhorrence, the imp was tethered to the warlock and had no choice but to comply. The demon held both hands out from itself, charging two fireballs. "Why don't you do this yourself?" it hackled in its typical high-pitched, grating voice. "Scared of a few zombies?"

"If you're not quiet," Negate hissed, "I'll ask my new undead friend to eat you."

"Like she owes you any favors!" the imp cackled, finally throwing the fireball, but woefully missing. Instead, it whizzed by the zombie's head but caught its attention all the same.

Negate took a step back from Jublop, charging a shadow bolt. "What do you mean?" he asked with disdain.

"She hates you!" Jublop laughed, his next attack striking true.

"That's nonsense," Negate scoffed, easily knocking the creature in the side. "We just met. Besides, I am an attractive gentleman—what's not to like?"

Jublop struck the monster again, ending its pathetic existence.

"I hate you," Jublop informed rudely. "I can tell when other people hate you, too."

"Well, you're wrong about her. Why would she accept my help if she hated me?" Negate challenged, stepping toward the creature to loot the zombie.

"You're a means to an end. She'll probably eat _you _in your sleep when she's done with you!" the imp smirked. "Then I will be free of you!"

"Nonsense!" Negate repeated, albeit a little wary. He deduced it was better safe than sorry, and stood up, cupping his hands around his mouth. "Lisys! You wouldn't eat me, would you?"

Lisys was nearby, but out of sight, looting a kill of her own. She stood, wandering back into his field of vision. "What?" she spat with an angry glower.

"Oh!" Negate gasped, jumping back."Oh my, I apologize. I'm still not accustomed to your terrifying face."

"Right," Lisys groaned, looking downwards again. "I think we've killed enough of them?"

"Correct," agreed Negate, dismissing Jublop lest he sputter something annoying again, or some absurd implication that this unfortunate-looking girl feel anything other than smitten with him. "Should you lead the way, or would you get lost?"

Lisys's frown deepened, but she turned toward the south end of town and began walking without comment.

Negate trotted a bit to catch up. "Good job out there," he praised, in contrast to his usual attitude towards her mere moments ago. "Now you're at least strong enough to avoid complete decimation right outside of town."

Lisys nodded. "I guess if I'd known it'd be this easy, I would have started a long time ago."

"It's at first," Negate informed her nonchalantly. "Then things start to pick up speed."

She stared at him suspiciously. "You know an awful lot for someone barely ahead of myself," she muttered.

"I'm fairly well-traveled," he answered testily, growing weary of her mistrust.

"So why haven't you been out getting stronger?" Lisys asked.

"I spent a lot of time working," he answered honestly, seeing no reason not to reveal anything about his life to this undead girl. He'd long since determined that she was ultimately harmless, albeit scary. "At first, just so my sister wouldn't have to, and then to rebuild Silvermoon."

"Oh," Lisys answered shyly, as if she felt the question had over-stepped some boundary.

"And yourself?" he asked, glancing at her quickly, then looking away with revulsion.

She missed his gaze in favor of staring at the ground. "I'm… not sure. Come on, let's turn this in," she answered, lifting her head again as they arrived at the church.

"Ugly _and _strange," Negate grumbled, following her.

"We've done it, Sarvis," Lisys announced triumphantly as soon as they'd entered. "Eight of each."

"So you have begun to prove your worth," Sarvis stated, producing a pair of gloves and a cloak, and seventeen copper for each.

Lisys took the cloak, leaving the gloves for Negate. "Is there anything else?" The pair placed their new armor over what they were already wearing, already preparing to tackle another task.

"The skeletons," answered Sarvis, "slightly more powerful than the zombies, also need be dealt with. Kill twelve of them, then return."

"Ugh, _more _undead," Negate groaned. He placed a hand over his face, heaved a dramatic sigh, then looked back to Sarvis. "We accept." After all, he was willing to do anything to get home.

Lisys glared at Negate for his undead comment momentarily, then nodded to Sarvis and began to turn away.

"Psst!" a voice in the corner caused her to pause and glance back.

Novice Elreth motioned for Lisys and Negate to move toward her. They complied.

The novice, an apprentice to Shadow Priest Sarvis, was less of an eyesore, and so Negate felt comfortable looking her in the face. Her features carried a sadness to them that created a pity inside of him he had not felt for any other of these ugly people, but strangely he felt his attention gravitate elsewhere. She wore a typical apprentice robe for a new warlock, red and form-fitting with many cutouts in the chest and stomach. Negate noticed for the first time that any rot on the Forsaken started around the outside contours of the body—the shoulders, the arms, the legs.

The middle section was almost completely untouched, and Negate watched her cleavage openly when she spoke.

"My duties include tending to our wounded warriors, tailoring armor and clothes, and assisting Shadow Priest Sarvis with whatever else he might need," Elreth began in an old, quiet voice. "From the looks of it, you've been enlisted too—killing mindless scourge, if I know his mind."

Negate and Lisys both nodded, though Negate's head remained bent.

"Well, if you'd like to stay in one piece—and I've no doubt you do, perhaps I can help. I'm running out of paws and wings. If you bring me some, I'll find some armor for you."

Both nodded again. "We accept."

"You'll find a good number of wolves and bats to the south," she informed, shooing them off. "Embrace the shadow!"

Negate finally set his head back upright, and he flashed her a half-smile. "Right, will do…" he mumbled politely as he followed Lisys out of the church once more. "The undead say the most bizarre things…" he muttered to himself.

"Are you going to call that imp again?" Lisys asked as the two headed back out of the church and unto the north for the second time that day.

"Afraid so," he answered. "Almost as irritating as you are ugly, isn't he?"

Lisys did her best not to form an ugly expression, as it only seemed to fuel his fire. She only sighed. "Yeah, almost. How exactly do you call it?" she asked, changing the subject quickly.

"Magic," he answered, not sure how to explain otherwise. "Remember that glow you saw earlier today? Like that…. Here, just watch."

Lisys nodded, stopping at the timber spike line.

Negate stood with feet apart, raising his hands slightly, elbows bent.

Lisys had very limited experience with spell-casters, and was quietly amazed. Purple light concentrated in an orb above his head, at his hands, and in two tight circles around his feet. It wasn't a lengthy or complicated process like she had always expected—in fact, it was all over in a matter of seconds.

"Oooh…" Lisys smiled. "Pretty."

With an eerie cackle, Jublop appeared, somersaulting around.

"Does it like serving you?" Lisys asked, reaching out to touch it with a slim, bony finger.

With a mean smile, the small creature snapped at her, causing a quick recoil.

"Be good," Negate ordered with a swift kick to the imp's backside, sending it sprawling on its face. "No, but I own it, so it doesn't have a choice."

Lisys nodded. "I see. Did you name it?"

"No," Negate scoffed, walking past the felled timber and into the scourge-infested north end of town. "You can keep talking, but we should get started."

"Ah, right, most skeletons seem to be in buildings," Lisys agreed, directing herself and Negate into an old blacksmithy. "So, they name themselves? …And it picked Jublop?"

Negate sent the imp to attacking the only skeleton within the building. "Actually, I'm not quite sure how their naming system works. Don't much care—as soon as I get a new demon, I'm never summoning this stupid creature again." He answered quickly and in a friendly tone. He more than welcomed the conversation—anything to keep his mind off the horrors all around him.

Lisys stabbed the skeleton listlessly with her dagger. Since the skeleton's attention was on Jublop, it was really no threat to her. She and Negate both attacked, but kept their focus on one another, allowing Jublop to take most of the damage.

"When do you get a new one?" Lisys asked.

"When I can command the respect of a voidwalker," Negate answered. killing the rattlecage with a shadow bolt.

"But until now, you've been stuck with this irritating little _thing _because you hadn't had time to get out," Lisys finished for him.

"Correct," Negate answered, allowing her to loot the beast. "Seems you have my life all sorted out, what about yours?" Negate asked. "What has your existence consisted of?"

"Before or after I died?" she asked, divvying up the copper to split it with him.

"Before," he replied, honestly curious.

"Happiness and sunshine," she answered in a way that made it tough for Negate to tell if she was serious or not.

"And after?" he questioned, raising an eyebrow and pocketing 2 copper.

"More of the same," she answered, heading for the door.

xwx

Eleven skeletons later, Lisys sat to rest on the porch of an old house. Everything in her manner showed Negate that she was completely comfortable, even on the north end of town, and for reasons unknown to himself, it surprised him.

"Damn, this is hard work," she exhaled.

Negate stood beside her, shifting his gaze this way and that. "No matter how many we kill, there are still more," he breathed.

"That's because this whole place is infested with plague, so more just rise. Oliver said that Sarvis is always looking for more new recruits to beat back the mindless here. See, look at the sky—it's green." Lisys answered, pointing upwards.

Negate tilted his head back, wrinkling his nose. "This is not normal."

"No, it isn't," Lisys agreed.

"Almost as creepy as your face…" Negate mumbled.

Lisys ignored the insult. "It gets worse at night," she smirked. "Think you can handle it?"

"Hu!" Negate scoffed. "Of course. I survived my first night here, remember?"

"True," Lisys agreed. "But you seem to have some sort of problem with the undead. You cringe any time one touches you. Aren't you scared?"

"Hardly," Negate snickered. "Only when _you _touch me. You're horrifying."

Lisys couldn't help a frown. It was beginning to seem like there could be no conversation with this man without put-downs, and it was, at the very least, irritating.

"Then why do I have to do all the work?" Jublop screeched.

"Ugh," Lisys covered her ears. "It's voice alone! … Is it _always _complaining?"

"Yes," Negate answered, dismissing Jublop before he could reply. "We'll do the next quest without him."

"Thank you," she whispered, sighing. "What's next again?"

"We need paws and wings for that Elreth girl," Negate answered, mind traveling back to her sad, yet perky, visage. He couldn't help but wonder if Lisys would be more tolerable if she dressed like the novice, but kept it to himself.

"Oh," Lisys swallowed. "Right, most of the bats and wolves are to the south."

"Then let's go, we're losing daylight."Negate offered a hand to pull her up.

Lisys stared at his upturned palm, surprised. She took it after a moment's hesitation, using him in part to hoist herself up.

"By the sunwell," Negate moaned, taking his hand away and rubbing it against his other as they began their trek down to the other side of town. "Are your veins filled with dry ice?"

"No, I just don't make body heat anymore…" she answered semi-self-consciously. It was a true statement: she had no use for body heat now that her blood no longer moved, but all the same she felt his heat, and once again became infatuated with it. She touched her own hand to her heart, hoping to spread it, but the feeling had already gone. Quietly, she looked up to the side of his face, whishing she had an excuse to touch him. But there was none, and even if there was, he'd make some smart-ass comment that sucks all the happiness from any situation. With a sigh, she dropped her gaze.

"It looks like the blasted creatures are all through the wood," Negate grunted. "Let's divide and conquer. You kill everything that way, I'll go this way, all right?"

Lisys swallowed nervously, clearly uncomfortable. "Okay," she nodded quietly. She watched him move to the left, then silently moved herself to the right. A young scavenger wolf with silver fur wandered into her field of vision immediately, filling her with dread.

"Why?" Lisys asked the beast, drawing her dagger. She held it awkwardly, making a few practice swings, before sheathing the knife once more.

The young beast sat down in front of her, teeth clean, white, and sharp as he stared her in the eyes, unafraid.

She dropped to her knees, placing a hand beneath the animal's chin. "Why'd you have to do this? Now I have to kill you," she exhaled. "Please, just hold still and don't fight back, okay? I want this to be as painless as possible for you." She took in a sharp breath and drew her dagger, once more positioning the instrument, but again she did not strike.

The wolf started at her, uncomprehending.

"Is there a problem?" Negate asked, watching her with an elegant eyebrow raised. He'd already killed two by this time.

"Argh! I can't do it!" Lisys exploded suddenly, dropping her dagger and madly shooing at the wolf, begging him to run away. "I can't kill this helpless animal!"

"What?" Negate blinked in confusion, starting to wonder if perhaps his traveling partner wasn't _all there _so to speak. "It's hardly a helpless animal. Look at those teeth and claws!" he gestured toward the animal's face and paws. "As soon as you stab it, it will attack with all its fury!"

"He can't help it," Lisys argued. "What would you do if I stabbed you?"

Negate closed the short distance between them, scoffing. "I'd take one look at your face and let you kill me." He answered with an eye roll. "Can you kill the bats?"

Lisys shook her head. "I don't think so."

"But they're ugly!" Negate countered.

"It doesn't make them mean," Lisys hissed.

"I guess," Negate shrugged. "After all, you're fairly amicable."

Lisys couldn't help a smile, taking it as a genuine compliment. "Thank you."

"Do you have an aversion to cutting their paws and wings after they're already dead?" Negate asked, trying to find ways for Lisys to be useful. "Because I have an aversion to getting blood all over my robes."

Lisys shook her head. "No, I guess if they're already dead, they don't need them anymore."

"Good, then we'll use some team work. I will kill the beastly things. You follow me and cut them up. Deal?"

Lisys nodded her head. "Deal," she smiled, rising to her feet. She extended a hand to shake on it, hoping quietly that he would take it.

He glanced down at her hand, then raised his own to take it, but a blur of motion behind Lisys knocked her into Negate, and he threw his arms outward to catch her on instinct.

"Eek!" Lisys shouted, gripping Negate's shoulders. He was warm, of course, but she would have much preferred the touch of his hand. At present, no part of her made contact with any part of him that wasn't separated by a cloth barrier or two, and while this brought a dully pleasing sensation to her, she much preferred the harsh, burning warmth of skin-on-skin contact. Besides, she was much too shy to be hugging strangers. And there was the inevitable disgust she was expecting him to convey as soon as his mind wrapped around their situation.

"Ugh! Off!" Negate ordered, shoving her away forcefully.

Lisys stumbled back, barely avoiding another fall. "Mmph! Okay, sorry…"

"The hell was that?" Negate questioned irately, looking this way and that before spotting the source of the original shove. A few yards to their left was a cocky-looking orcish warrior with a blunt axe.

This youngster's face differed so much from the determined glower Negate had witnessed upon Endian, it amazed Negate they were of the same race. Bluish skin obscured in mismatched armor gave this newbie a ridiculous look only exaggerated by his ridiculous name: Beatstick.

The newbie pumped his axe in the air and shouted, "For the Horde!" before running from wolf to wolf and bat to bat, attacking everything within sight.

"Idiot," Negate hissed disdainfully with a shake of his head. "How did a first level orc even get here?"

"You got here," Lisys pointed out.

"Yes, but I speak articulately and show some rational knowledge of what I am doing. No way in Azeroth did anyone mistake him for anything but a moron," Negate laughed.

"I think he has too many animals on him," Lisys answered, tilting her head. "Should we help him?"

"No, let him learn a lesson," Negate answered. "And let this be a lesson to you, as well. This Beatstick is a perfect example of how _not _to level."

"Mmm," Lisys nodded, watching quietly as the wolves nearly picked the teen off. She winced, ready to help whatever Negate said, as she watched Beatstick turn and run, and let out a sigh of relief when she saw the wolves give up.

Shortly after his departure, while the mob was weak, Negate shadow-bolted and killed many of them, then looked to Lisys. "Get to cutting, ugly. Hopefully that moron shows up again; he could make this quest a lot easier."

"Poor guy…" Lisys mumbled, moving to cut off any good wings or paws. Given that the animals bruise these limbs in battle, it's typically tough to hack more than one quality piece per animal, provided she found one at all. For this reason, Negate killed more while she cut. Their team work proved spectacularly effective, thanks in part from the head start they received from poor Beatstick.

"Okay, that's all!" Lisys called finally, looking to end the slaughter of these animals as soon as was possible. "Six bat wings and six paws for each of us."

"Thank the sun," Negate grunted in reply. "We're approaching dusk."

Lisys nodded. "And I'm a little worn out… thanks for all of your help, by the way. I probably never would have the resolve to get stronger on my own…" she muttered awkwardly, avoiding his gaze. It was unnaturally tough for her to show him gratitude, partially because he'd been rude since they met, but also because something inside of him inspired her while making her shy at the same time.

"No problem," he smiled, striking a pose. "I am quite charitable, aren't I?"

Lisys covered her mouth to conceal a laugh, shaking her head slowly. "Mmmhm! You're the nicest guy I kn—what's that?" she asked, her voice suddenly dropping to a whisper as she looked up at him.

Negate appeared irritated. "This is my 'I am charitable' pose."

Lisys jumped to her feet, then crouched down low, setting her teeth tightly together with concentration. Hallowed eyesockets pressed together in a squint as she lowered herself into a crouch. "Move," she whispered.

"Mmm?" Negate shifted to the side slightly, turning around to trace her gaze. Her manner was so serious it didn't even occur to him that he should joke about her appearance.

"Humans," she exhaled, unrestrained fear creeping into her voice. "We have to go."

*END: CHAPTER 2*

_Last revised & updated 4-23-09_


	4. Chapter 3

*BEGIN CH3: NIGHTMARES*

//SET LOCATION: DEATHKNELL

"Look at this place," a man called Mevin Korgal grunted, looking about disdainfully. "Once a beautiful, thriving wood…"

"I agree, sir," answered a new recruit beside him.

Meven Korgal, messenger to the Scarlet Crusade, scowled unhappily at the dreary scene before him: green skies above, diseased trees all around, and to their right, the broken little town now known as "Deathknell" loomed in all of its unfortunate glory. Once brunette hair and beard had grayed prematurely because of this very situation.

"What's your name again?" Meven asked the girl beside him, adjusting shield and sword.

She struggled not to appear annoyed; this was the fifth time he'd asked in one day. "Jibreel," she answered. Unlike Meven, Jibreel was new to the Scarlet Crusade and retained her youth well. Chesnutt hair hung bluntly around her shoulders, and close-fitting ruddy clothing exposed healthy curves.

"Jibreel, do you know anything of the documents I carry?" Meven asked.

"I do not, sir," she answered, her typically serious red lips and brown eyes forming an interested expression.

"They hold valuable information from above," Meven whispered as to convey the importance. "This is a brilliant opportunity for you. As my escort, you play a vital role in their safe delivery. I feel you were chosen well."

"Thank you, sir," she answered in a tone that was tough to read: flat, emotionless. Actually, it was how she said nearly everything. "I want nothing more but to serve the light in the eradication of the undead." She added with determination set high and clear in her voice. And the statement was true enough; even if no such jihad existed , Jibreel had her own reasons for seeking the demise of the undead, and would have worked tirelessly towards this goal alone.

Meven stopped suddenly, squinting his eyes hard.

"What? What is it?" Jibreel demanded, spotting two figures a distance ahead of herself and Meven.

"Looks like an opportunity to prove yourself," Meven answered, smirking. "If they kill me, run."

xwx

"Humans?" Negate narrowed his eyes, tracing Lisys's gaze. "Here?"

"Scarlet Crusade," Lisys answered with some urgency. She reached out, tugging the sleeve of his robe. "Come on, let's just run," she whimpered, keeping her eyes trained on the pair.

He jerked his arm free, raising it instead to conjure a shadow bolt. Feeling both out, he saw no reason for alarm. "They are not that strong—don't worry, we can take them," he assured her.

Nervously, Lisys drew her dagger, setting her feet apart. "Are you certain?" Lisys was never unlucky enough to suffer an encounter with a Scarlet Crusader as of yet, but she knew that they were not to be trifled with—especially not by her.

"Ras Vassild Lithtos eynes majis ras valesh ash garde noth dana novas eynes!" shouted the female crusader as the two humans spotted the mismatched pair.

Negate smirked, throwing the black-green ball of energy at the male, the stronger of the two. "Don't worry—I won't let the nasty ol' humans get you," he assured cockily.

"These lands be cleansed!" Meven shouted in perfect Orcish, driving a running jab at Negate with his sword as soon as he was within range. "I will vanquish every last undead heathen myself if I must!"

Negate grit his teeth in pain—his cloth robe offered very little protection. He loosed another ball of energy unto the crusader's face. "I don't even remotely resemble an undead!" he scoffed, though he knew it would not sway the man's opinion. Negate was well aware of the Scarlet Crusade's mindset: intense bigotry meant attacking anything that wasn't wearing the crusade's own colors.

"Better safe than sorry," returned Meven with a hateful stare, slashing at Negate once more.

"Yah!" shouted the young initiate as she struck at Lisys, mere inches from the clash between the two men. She spoke no Orcish—not important enough. Still, she was proud enough of the red tabard she wore that she could communicate well with her eyes. Hatefully, she stared Lisys hard in the face as she nailed the Forsaken in the ribcage with her dagger.

To her right, Jibreel could hear Meven Korgal was fighting a losing battle, and this came as no surprise to her. Light forgive her, she'd thought the whole way that he was an insufferable fool and his death would come one way or another, but the inconvenience this caused herself and the crusade were tiresome. The documents were lost, it was clear that Meven would die and that these two would uncover them. The best she could do for them now was to escape, send word of their compromise, and return to reclaim the reports before this pair of blasphemers could have them translated.

Jibreel drew back slightly, before stepping forward hard to break Lisys's guard, again penetrating the hellion's flesh, whilst looking desperately for a way out.

Lisys did not fold. Fear and dread easily converted into pure loathing within her. These fiends, claiming to serve the light, dedicated themselves to one thing—her death, and the death of all people like her. There was no reason, no calling, no explanation. They symbolized all that had plagued the undead since their unfortunate rising.

Oliver had once told Lisys the story of another of the deathgaurds who slaughtered his own sister, for she had joined the ranks of the Scarlet Crusade and would have murdered another of their common siblings otherwise. In the back of her mind, Lisys wondered if the girl she fought now was so selfish as to turn on her own flesh and blood as well.

"I can only hope," Lisys hissed, wincing as the initiate's dagger dug into her, "that your death sees you risen as I have been!" she snarled before retaliating.

Negate killed Meven Korgal heartlessly, watching his body hit the ground. Since the third war, he hadn't cared much for humans, and as such this man's death meant little to him. He turned to monitor Lisys's progress, startled to find that, for someone so frightened mere moments ago, she held her own substantially well. Still, it would be a close fight, and Negate deduced that he ought to help. He used his racial arcane torrent to siphon just enough mana for another shadow bolt, but before he could finish channeling, a glimmer in the trees caught his eye.

A fireball jumped forth from the shrubbery, catching Lisys in the side. Another crusader, a mage of some sort, hid in the bushes, attempting to aid his comrade.

Smirking, Negate redirected the attack unto the hidden spell caster. If things became more heated, he'd summon Jublop, but he had a feeling that this much weaker man concealed in the trees was merely trying to buy the female human some time.

The mage shouted to his fellow crusader, and she gave Lisys one more hard slash before turning and running, allowing Lisys the last swing before she escaped.

Negate let the girl go (he was out of mana anyway) instead moving to Lisys to check her for serious injury. "Are you all right?" he asked.

"Fine," she answered, a large, happy smile over-taking her face. "I hate the Scarlet Crusade… fighting that wench felt good. Thanks for all your help."

Lisys's expression caused Negate very mixed feelings. On one hand he was horrified by the display of even _more _sharp teeth—on the other, her seldom expressed happiness was very infectious. He looked away from her grin to keep from the fear and allowed himself to smile as well in reaction. "It's not a problem."

"It's a shame she got away, though," Lisys sighed, sheathing her dagger.

"Maybe we'll see her again," Negate offered, shrugging. "In any event, your health is low. I don't suppose you've got a potion on you, in case we run into something else?"

Lisys shook her head. "No, but it's all right. I'll just eat this Meven Korgal fellow…" she answered, dropping to her knees beside the corpse. Carelessly, she lifted the dead crusader's shirt and punctured his fleshy stomach with her claw-like fingers.

"Ugh!" Negate turned away from the grisly scene, closing his eyes tightly. While he was aware of this racial ability, he had never played witness to the consumption of a corpse, and he found it far more disgusting than even his wildest imagination was capable of projecting. Even with his back turned, the mere noises were sickening.

Sensing his discomfort, Lisys stopped short, wiping her mouth with the back of her wrist. "Oh, sorry…" she apologized, standing. "I know it's gross, but it's really convenient..."

Negate refused to face her, giving a hard shudder in response. "Well, warn me next time!" he snarled. "Great sun, you're liable to give me nightmares; a hideous thing like you, standing over me, preparing to eat my corpse…" he groaned, shivering again with dread. Then, with renewed horror, he was reminded of an earlier conversation with his hated imp: _Actually, she'll probably eat _you _in your sleep…_

"I'm sorry," Lisys repeated, honestly upset she had scared him. "I'll try to say something first in the future… what's this?" she asked, tilting her head at the dead body.

"What's what?" Negate demanded, daring to turn towards her finally. He cringed at the sight of the bloody mess , once a man's torso.

"Some kind of letter?" she asked, bending to retrieve an envelope that had fallen out of the man's pocket during the course of her… _meal. _"Hmm, it's Common… I think the Executer can read this dialect…" she mused.

Negate stared at the letter in her hand for a moment before noticing that the sun was setting just behind Lisys's ugly head. "Mm, we'll worry about that later," he decided, an edge of anger lingering in his voice. "Right now, let's get back to the inn… and out of this damn creepy wood," he ordered, motioning for her to follow him.

Lisys nodded, walking along side of him. "We're making good time, aren't we?" she asked, doing her best to sound cheerful. It was all she could do to keep herself from frowning and thereby creating a bigger fuss. "We're half way there almost."

Negate nodded, but avoided looking at her. "Unfortunately, we won't grow as fast after tonight—it's always easy in the beginning," he informed, repeating a phrase he'd heard a hundred or more times.

"Still, you have to be excited to get home to your sister—one day down, is it—four to go?" Lisys questioned.

"About, if we continue to make good time," Negate answered, wearily shifting his gaze this way and that as they entered the zombie-ridden north end of Deathknell. The consistency of undead in this place was beginning to unnerve him.

"As soon as we get to Brill, you can send her a letter," Lisys offered. "You mentioned that she worries."

"That's right, isn't it?" Negate started, nearly forgetting about the mail system entirely.. "I'll start the letter tonight," he paused right outside of the inn, grinning with appreciation. "Thank you for reminding me, Lisys."

She nodded, waving. "Good night."

Negate waved back, then turned and vanished into the inn.

Lisys appeared smug, turning back unto the north of the town. There would be no sleeping in a hallway for her this night—no sir. By the looks of things, she and her temporary travel mate were going to hit Brill by the next day, but before she left, Lisys would see that she enjoyed the pleasure of sleeping in her own damn house one last time, something she never would have dreamed of even the night before.

With new, powerful confidence, she entered her old home, a small one-room structure in the center of the scourge-infested north, attacking and easily killing both skeleton inhabitants, just as she'd already done 12 others that day. She then threw the old bones out and pushed an old, broken table in front of the door. It would not keep the mindless ones out, they had a way of worming into anything, but a small interruption here and there was all right with her.

Having been so poor that she'd never owned a bed in life, Lisys easily laid herself down on the floor beside the empty fireplace and started to drift away with a quiet smile on her face.

xwx

_Dearest Negatory,_

Began Negate upon a thick piece of parchment with a pen he'd borrowed from an ugly undead just down the stairs.

_I began to write you as soon as I had a chance to sit down, however, this pathetic town has no mail box. Allow me to backtrack: I am currently stranded in Deathknell, Tirisfal Glades…_

And Negate continued the letter, explaining his situation and instructing Negatory to stay with Phasilica until he returned. He flinched at the thought of his hopelessly naïve younger sister on her own while he was not available to check on her.

He actually surprised himself as he wrote; previously, he had not been aware that he was so inclined to worry; then again, his sister had not been the same since the raping of Quel'Thalas a mere five years ago—none of them had—so he had every reason to distress over her state of mind…

Exhausted, Negate set the letter on the floor and lay back on the bed. He had no intentions of sleeping just yet, but somehow he dozed all the same, and shortly found himself in a hazy dream.

_Negate exhaled deeply, feeling dazed. The air around him smelled ultra-sweet, intoxicating, multiplying his confusion. He opened his eyes to see a brilliant blue sky dotted with the bright orange and red leaves of fruit trees trapped in an eternal spring. Despite the staggering beauty of his surroundings, everything appeared deadened; even the sound of his own breath in his ears was muffled as if his head were partially underwater._

_He struggled to sit up, desperately seeking the cause of his fatigue, but as he exerted, the edges of his vision began to blur and a soft, warm weight on his chest held him down._

"_Where…" Negate breathed haggardly as he collapsed back into the grass. Even the command of his own vocal cords appeared to fail him._

_Fabricate rose from where she had laid on his chest, straddling Negate's midsection instead. "You're outside the city," she answered softly. _

"_Fabricate…" he moaned, head swooning as he worked sluggishly to understand. "What…"_

"_This is what it feels like," she cooed almost lovingly, "when you don't have enough magic, remember?" she asked, leaning in close to his face. _

_He shook his head heavily, feeling his thoughts numb. Her warm, sweet breath stroked the skin of his cheeks, and Negate felt himself quickly losing focus._

_Her elegant fingers moved to his hp, pulling his dulled acolyte's dagger easily from its sheath. He rose his hand as an attempted protest, but dropped it just as quickly. _

"_What are you…?" he asked weakly, but could not finish. Consciousness was all but abandoning him._

"_But you're lucky," she whispered, ignoring the question. She slid the blade beneath his collar, cutting the fabric of his robe from the neck to his stomach. She repeated the motion on the plain shirt he wore beneath, then spread the fabric aside to expose a subtly chest._

_Cold air spilled over his midsection and sensation nearly took him over, but he fought hard to follow the course of their conversation. Watching her dizzily, he pushed out a soft "Why?" while blackness ate as his vision._

"_Because someday…" she moaned lovingly, laying her soft face on the bare skin of his shoulder. She held the dagger in her fist firmly, digging the tip into his opposite shoulder. "…someday you'll learn how to hurt yourself for more…" she dragged the tip of the knife slowly towards herself and down, creating a deep gash slanted across taught skin._

_Negate groaned, but relaxed quickly as wet hot blood pooled, then slithered from the open wound. The sharp pain of the slash subsided, replacing itself with a dull ache as his body betrayed him and relished the arcane energy returning his vitality, causing him a hard shudder of pleasure. _

_Licking red lips, Fabricate rose to straddle him once more, digging the small knife into the opposite shoulder. With renewed strength, Negate 's hand rose to settle upon hers, wrapping his fingers around the hilt of the knife, pressing down, cutting with her…_

Negate snapped his eyes open, and he shot upright with such force he nearly flung himself from the bed. Instinctively he set a hand to his chest, frowning. "Wicked siren is on her way to the wretched and trying to take me with her…" he muttered with disdain.

xwx

Lisys wrapped her arms around her midsection tightly, whimpering against a sharp pain within her body. Unable to dream naturally, her mind found itself trapped in a painful hallucination spurred by a burning in her belly, probably a distorted sensation from a minor wound inflicted earlier in the day, magnified by her own unfortunate imagination.

A wretched zombie stood in the corner of her ruined home, red eyes flashing. Blood dripped from its mouth as well as an empty shoulder socket, suggesting that perhaps he'd eaten the missing limb himself. He stared at her with a sort of intelligent, ugly smile, somehow multiplying the growing hurt inside of her. Panting, she rolled over onto her stomach and from there rose onto all fours, staring hard at the ground as her breaths came in ragged gasps.

"What's… wrong… with me?" Lisys whispered through grit teeth. An overwhelming desire to cry possessed every ounce of her being, but she fought it down hard. Dread and agony filled her heart in equal parts: some place in her knew exactly where this dream was going.

The undead chuckled maniacally, a sound akin to a quiet rumble of thunder, low and ominous. "You already know," it snarled.

Lisys was well aware that this scene could not be real, that the weak zombies had long lost their ability to speak. Still, her subconscious was unwilling to reject her tainted senses. Somehow, she managed to raise her agonized face to the creature to shake her head disobediently.

"There is another girl inside of you!" the scourge boomed with a fury that suppressed her into whimpering submission once more. It smirked at her complacency, continuing, quieter. "She will claw her way out of you herself if you don't take care of this…" he informed, limping closer to her. As he stumbled into the moonlight, she saw that he dragged a mangled, useless foot behind him, leaving a trail of black blood.

She recoiled from him as best as the pain in her midsection would allow until she collapsed onto the ground, gasping for air. The world around her was spinning.

The wretched dead dropped a rusty knife next to her shivering form with a heated growl, before turning away to limp back unto its corner.

Quietly, Lisys reached out and took the knife, near sobbing as she drew the blade closer to her. She laid the weapon near her face, then covered her eyes with the same hand, counting backwards from three, a trick Oliver had taught her. Terrified, she removed her hand and opened her eyes to find she was now staring at her own dagger, and the zombie in the corner had returned to normal, stupidly glancing this way and that. In a rush, the anguish in her stomach left her, replacing itself with the minor external tingle of a typical flesh wound.

"I guess this was a bad idea…" she muttered to herself quietly, shaking her head at her own stupidity. "Of course, there is nothing for me here anymore…" she whispered, standing. Moving aside the old table, she left, returning her house to the scourge that had wandered in.

Lisys wanted desperately to avoid thinking on her dream and walked with determination back to the south side, seriously considering waking Negate before spotting Deathgaurd Oliver near the south gate. With quick strides, she moved to stand beside him.

He did not turn to look at her, but could sense the change in her strength. "So it's true," Oliver snickered in a low voice. "You entered a deal with that fool," he scoffed as Lisys drew near.

"He is not a fool," she answered with a frown. "Kind of a jerk, but not a fool."

Oliver laughed darkly once more. "How far do you plan to go with him?"

"We're going to the Undercity…" she answered with a light fidget. "He says that we'll be more than prepared in a few days, as long as we work hard."

"And then where?" Oliver asked, the humor dropping from his face. "You'll be on your own."

"I'm not sure…" she answered with a shrug. "I will have to move on if I ever want to be strong."

"You will end up back here," Oliver decided heartlessly.

"I won't," she argued. "I'll visit one day, sure, but not until I'm much stronger."

"How much?" Oliver asked, humoring her.

"Mmm…" she glanced down at her fingers, curling them and uncurling them nervously as she thought. "When I've been offered a position as a deathgaurd. Then I'll come home."

Oliver concealed a challenging snigger. "You'll never make it."

"Don't have such little faith in me," Lisys scowled, determined. "I'm leaving—probably tomorrow—and I've gotten stronger already," she insisted with much determination. Her face then softened, however. "I'll write you… will you answer?" she asked.

"I doubt it," Oliver growled, becoming irritated by this conversation.

"I'll write anyway," Lisys sighed.

"I have to patrol," Oliver grunted, turning from her.

"I will walk with you," Lisys answered, following him quickly.

xwx

Groggily, Negate exited the inn that next morning: he hadn't caught any sleep after awaking from that dream. Fabricate unnerved him; the idea of running out of magic unnerved him. The two together _scared _him.

And from the subject of fright sprung a realization: he hadn't the slightest where Lisys had gone. The previous morning she had found him before he even bothered to look for her, and he never really bothered to ask where she stayed.

"Mmm… you there!" Negate called out to a quiet-looking undead female by the name of Maquell Ebonwood.

She did not stop or turn, and so Negate jogged slightly to catch up with her.

"Maquell," he cleared his throat, speaking more politely. "I am looking for Lisys—have you seen her?" he asked. He felt it was safe to assume that the two women would know one another—how could anyone not know anyone in a town the size of Deathknell?

Maquell walked silently long enough for Negate to open his mouth to repeat himself before answering with, "Ask Oliver, he would know better than I."

"Oliver?" Negate questioned, stopping in the street. "Who is Oliver?"

Maquell ignored his question, disappearing quietly into the church.

Negate let her go with a grunt, turning this way and that, unsure of where to start. He thought he'd heard Lisys mention the name _Oliver _before, but he could not recall if she told him anything about the man. Then, by sheer luck, he spotted his traveling partner by the south town gates.

She was standing next to a deathgaurd with thick leather crisscross straps over his face and green-blue dreadlocks spouting symmetrically from his head. Negate identified him as Deathgaurd Oliver, but wasn't really concerned with him since he'd already found his comrade.

"Lisys!" he called, jogging towards her.

"Hmm?" she turned around to see Negate, the sun long since risen behind him. "Morning already?"

"Oh!" Negate stopped in his tracks, almost jumping back, before exhaling. "Still terrifying…"

Lisys only groaned inwardly with irritation. "We never turned in the quests from yesterday—want to go take care of that now?" she asked.

By chance, Negate happened to notice that Oliver was sizing him up silently as he stood beside Lisys. Then, with a snicker, the deathgaurd turned away and exited the south gate to continue his patrol.

"Yes, we'll do that first…" Negate answered, watching Oliver go. "Was that a friend of yours?" he asked immediately after.

"Who, Oliver?" Lisys turned around, expecting to see the deathgaurd behind her, but she was not surprised to discover that he had gone. "I apologize if he was making rude gestures—he thinks that I am making a mistake."

"A mistake?" Negate frowned. "By partying with _me_?"

"Ah, well, yes," she nodded uncomfortably.

Negate snickered lightly, frown replacing itself with a smirk as he turned back toward the church. "Is he some kind of fool? How could any time spent in my company be a mistake?"

Lisys shook her head with a soft smile on her face, already beginning to adjust to Negate's attitude. "Not so much your company, he…" Lisys's smile faded, "…thinks I am destined to fail."

"At reaching the Undercity?" Negate paused just outside the church door, lifting an elongated eyebrow at her.

"I guess," she shrugged with a sigh. "He just doesn't think I'll make it very far or get any tougher."

Negate scoffed, turning and entering the church. "Absolute nonsense! You'll do fine."

Lisys felt genuinely soothed by this compliment, but kept it to herself.

Sarvis narrowed his eyes behind his pair of leather straps at the intruders. "Have you completed your task?" he hissed.

"We have," Negate answered with a confident smile. "Twelve each."

Naturally suspicious of outsiders as the Forsaken are, Sarvis looked to Lisys for confirmation before continuing.

"I am finished with the both of you," Sarvis declared with an approving nod of his head to Negate, before shifting his attention onto Lisys. "You have shown yourself to be worthy of the freedom that you have been given. Many will stand against you for what you have become, but know that no matter what they may try to do against us, we are free and will not be shackled again."

"Thank you," Lisys answered, dipping her head.

Sarvis shifted aside, exposing some mismatched bits of clothing laying on the floor. "Take these and be on your way," he ordered, then added, whilst lifting his eyebrows pointedly, "you two have _much _to accomplish."

Lisys climbed the three steps to the dais, picking through the bits of armor. Finding herself a green leather scavenger's tunic, she pulled it over her black thug shirt, then glanced downward to admire herself. Deep green was always a favorite color of hers, and so she was satisfied.

Negate followed her, swiping a pair of boots. He sat down on the edge of the old stage, replacing the old, worn out pair that he wore at current.

"And the wings and paws?" Elreth asked suddenly from her corner in her dry, crackly voice before the two were scarcely finished dressing.

Negate, still seated on the ledge, shifted his gaze over to the apprentice. He found, much to his delight, that as Novice Elreth turned to face him, his eyes were at perfect level with her chest. Leaning forward slightly, he entertained thoughts of Elreth taking Fabricate's place in his dreams.

"Ah, yes, six wings, six paws, wasn't it?" Lisys asked, striding closer to the novice, pausing briefly to look at Negate strangely when he made no move to stand. Confusion building, she traced his gaze to Elreth's torso. Then, with an irritated sigh, she pulled Negate's bag off of his shoulder and brought his 12 severed animal limbs to Elreth for him.

Feeling the weight leave his shoulder brought Negate out of his day dream. He stepped forward with Lisys to collect the promised armor; an old leather belt for she, and bracers for he.

"I have one more task to ask of you," the novice announced quietly as the pair pulled on their new fixings.

"Let's hear it," Negate answered, keeping his sight limited to the apprentice's face for the moment.

"My friend, Marla Fipps," Elreth paused, looking to Lisys.

"I remember," Lisys said quietly.

Elreth nodded and turned to Negate, whose gaze had since wandered downward once more.

The apprentice continued, either oblivious or uncaring. "She lived with her husband Samuel before the plague, but when the plague came Samuel succumbed and joined the Scourge's ranks. Marla was spared an undeath only to die at the hands of her now mindless husband. So strong was her love, however, that her last dying wish was to be buried with her beloved Samuel.

"Samuel Fipps roams at a ruined camp along the road northeast of Deathknell. Defeat him and grant Marla's wish: bury him at her grave, in the first row of our graveyard."

Realizing the sensitivity of the situation, Negate managed to rip his gaze back unto her face, though to do so appeared to physically hurt him. "I accept," he answered, feeling a slight tinge of guilt for ogling while this poor woman spoke of dead friends.

The novice shifted to Lisys, reaching out with subtly quivering arms to take Lisys's hands in her own. The apprentice drew Lisys nearer her, pressing the hands to her chest. "We must respect our dead, Lisys," she whispered to her, so quietly that Negate could barely hear. "It is one of the ways in which we differ from the scourge…"

"Thank you," Lisys answered, drawing away again in clear embarrassment. "It will be done."

"Also, see Executor Arren," Elreth added, causing Lisys brief pause. "He has work for you as well."

"Mmm," Lisys nodded, then exited.

Negate thanked the Novice Elreth, stealing one last glance downward before following Lisys.

"Poor Marla…" she whispered to herself on the way to see Executor Arren as per instruction. The executor, Deathknell's warden, stood stoically just across the path. He was an evil looking man, jaw set into a permanent mean scowl, but then undead rarely appeared friendly. Even the manner in which they related to one another was strange. In fact, the Forsaken seemed so distant from one another that it frequently escaped Negate that Lisys may have been close with some of them.

He stopped mid way across the path, watching Lisys as she did the same. "Did you know Marla?" he asked.

"I knew of her," Lisys answered. "We weren't friends or anything, it's just… sad."

Negate nodded his agreement. "By helping her, we're doing the right thing."

"Yes," Lisys answered. "And, what's better, it gives you the opportunity to stare lecherously at Elreth's breasts," she added, frowning at Negate.

"I did no such thing! How dare you accuse me!" Negate contested, doing his best to appear insulted.

"That's a lie and you know it!" Lisys insisted. "It's a wonder the poor woman didn't notice."

"Well," Negate scoffed, crossing his arms. He gave up his argument rather quickly; Lisys was correct, it was indeed a wonder the apprentice hadn't noticed. "Can you blame me? Her face is drawn and sad—who wants to look at that? Her body, though, isn't all in bad shape…"

"Ugh!" Lisys scowled, covering her ears briefly in disgust. "You are twice the vile being I originally thought!"

Negate flinched at her expression. "Perhaps if you dressed like that…" he muttered, then smirked playfully, trying to picture the very thing in his head. "…You wouldn't be such an eyesore, either."

Lisys groaned, but did not appear offended. "The executor is just over here," she muttered, pointing.

"Right," Negate replied, following her across the way. "Did you know _this _man in life?"

"Yes," she answered with a frown. "I knew almost all of these people—nearly everyone in this town was here before… even the scourge, probably."

Negate looked away from yet another scary expression, instead looking to Executor Arren. "We've been told you've got work?"

The executor lifted an eyebrow, as if thinking Negate incapable, but answered him gruffly. "One of our greatest struggles is obtaining the natural resources we need to survive. Gold was scarce even in the height of the Alliance's power. There is a gold mine to the northwest that has been overrun with spiders. We need gold from the mine, but we can't very well get it while the spiders are crawling around in there. I've not much manpower to commit to the task, so we'll just have to do it little by little. Go up there and see what you can do for us," he ordered.

"All right, we'll do that before we find Samuel," Lisys answered.

Arren looked to Lisys with some surprise. "So it is true," he muttered.

Lisys thought she knew what he was on about, but decided to ask anyway. "You've been talking to Oliver?"

The warden nodded. "He's even got a pool going with the other guards—ten gold says you fail; he wins an extra five if you fail because you became hopelessly lost," he informed heartlessly.

Lisys appeared irritated. "I see."

Negate laughed, turning from the two and heading northwest, toward the gold mines. "Oliver is a real gentleman!"

Lisys thanked the executor, then hurried to catch Negate. "Yes, I appear to be some sort of _real gentleman _magnet," she replied, voice full of irony.

Negate missed the tone. "Well, by the way you read maps, becoming lost is a real issue. Otherwise, with a face like yours, I imagine most non-likewise-undead enemies will just give up instantly."

"Yeah, well, that's what I'm counting on," she grumbled sarcastically. "Let's go test this theory on the spiders," she urged, walking with the elf to a dreary corner of Deathknell known as Night Web's Hollow.

xwx

"I guess spiders don't fright easily," Negate mused, dragging his feet as he walked beside Lisys. Really, the task was not time consuming as the spiders were weak. Still, chasing bugs around for an hour after a night with no sleep appeared to wear his resolve. He almost didn't notice that beside him Lisys was likewise drained.

"What?" she asked, then sighed before he could reply. "Oh, right, my face was supposed to scare them to death," she remembered with light agitation.

"Pity," Negate shook his head. "You're not very pretty, not very strong, and you can't read a basic map. It's a lucky thing I was so generous as to take you on."

"So lucky," Lisys repeated, yawning.

Negate yawned as well, then turned his face to glare at her. "Don't," he demanded, much like a young child.

"Don't what?" she asked through another yawn.

Once more, Negate caught the contagious motion. "Yawn! Quit it!"

"Sorry," Lisys answered, struggling not to repeat.

"Great sun, did you spend all night out with that deathgaurd? Even the undead need to sleep a little, Lisys!" Negate growled irately.

"I'm sorry," Lisys reiterated, crossing her arms self-consciously. "I had a bad dream so I couldn't sleep… you look pretty tired, too, you know! What's your excuse?"

Negate laughed lightly. "The same. We must be in sync," he scoffed.

"Oh…" Lisys covered her mouth to hide a frown as she looked at Negate. "Did I do it?" she asked, worry consuming her voice as she recalled the events of the previous evening, where she'd devoured the body of Meven Korgal.

"What?" Negate asked, staring at Lisys queerly for a moment before recalling the same occurrence. "Oh! No, it wasn't you, it was… never mind." He shook his head dismissively. He couldn't really tell her of the dream without a long explanation of the history of his people and, of course, the story of Fabricate—plus, a great chunk of the disturbance his dream had caused him drew from the notion that, to some extent, he enjoyed the sensuality of the imagined events, and he hardly thought Lisys would approve.

"Oh," she exhaled, relieved. "Well, I really am sorry for—hm, there's Samuel," she remarked nonchalantly, pointing.

"Mm?" Negate followed her finger, finding a male scourge in torn clothes with filthy white matted hair. He was rotting, but ultimately no worse off than the other scourge all around. A nausea rose in his stomach so quickly it was a struggle to conceal. He despised the scourge beyond all else, and the stronger they became, the stronger his reaction to them, it seemed.

Around the woeful zombies, Samuel included, stood the remains of a camp of some sort, with two ruined tents perched amongst over-turned tables and various debris littering the ground.

"Negate?" Lisys asked, staring at him strangely. "Do you want me to start?"

"Yes," he inhaled. "Have at him."

Lisys nodded, watching Negate a moment with concern before pulling her dagger and striding toward the mindless creature. Like most of the zombies in this area, Samuel Fipps was so far gone that he did not bother to fight anymore unless provoked. A slash to his face, however, sprung retaliation and the unfortunate brute slashed back with a bloodied meat clever.

Ignoring the pains the undead scourge caused his head, Negate shot a familiar black-green ball at the thing, making a mental note that he and Lisys ought to visit trainers before they left Deathknell which, judging by the ease with which he and Lisys were handling Samuel, would be quite soon. If only luck could be so merciful as to allow him to send word to Negatory before nightfall…

With one last slash to the monster's face, Lisys saw him fall. She grabbed Samuel's arm, then looked to Negate. "Help me drag him?"

The notion of touching this _beast _of a former man was enough to drive all color from his skin. Reminding himself firmly that the creature was dead and could cause no harm, he forced himself to nod and strode toward her, taking the _thing's _opposite arm.

Lisys watched him with great concern, easily detecting his discomfort, but she did not comment. However, in the interest of soothing his mind, she offered him a smile. "Just a short distance," she reminded as they dragged the zombie together.

Once, Negate made the mistake of glancing backward just in time to see the corpse's jaw come loose and fall off of his face, laying in the road behind them.

With an uncomfortable swallow, he turned his face forward and was determined to keep it that way. "So, what, ah… was this man like in life?" Negate asked, struggling not to think about the cold, dead wrist in his fingers.

"Oh," Lisys would have blushed if she could have, "very handsome. Most of the girls were hopeful, but he really only ever wanted Marla."

Negate rolled his eyes—this sounded like the plot of a book his sister would read, ignoring the unfortunate demise of the couple, of course. "I don't suppose you ever tried for him?"

"No," she shook her head. "I never tried for anybody."

"Why on Azeroth not?" Negate asked.

"I just didn't see the point… what about you? I don't suppose you have a wife and children that you forgot to mention?" Lisys returned.

"Great sun, no," Negate laughed, all his tension melting away as he literally did forget the dead man trailing behind them. "A good-looking man like myself is far too appealing to ever be held by one woman."

"I thought you'd say that exact thing," Lisys giggled, walking past the broken down houses and unto the town. "It's been two nights since we met, and you are already predictable."

Negate appeared skeptical—had it really only been two nights? Perhaps every second he was stuck in this hell hole only felt longer because he detested it so—the most likely explanation.

Lisys paused by the grave yard, one plot in particular, and squinted to read the Gutterspeak headstone. "This is it."

"Surprised you found it by yourself," Negate teased rudely, daintily over-turning dirt with his boot.

Lisys handed him a shovel that had been lying by the freshly turned earth, then picked up an extra herself. "So am I…" she replied, not to be put off by his disrespect. Together, they dug a shallow hole about the length of Samuel's body, then rolled the corpse within and covered him up quickly. Both were proud that they had aided a young couple in finding peace, but Negate in particular was pleased to be rid of the body.

Lisys patted the dirt, whispering a quiet prayer to herself, before looking up to Negate. "Do you mind if we sit for a bit?" she asked earnestly, rubbing her forehead. "I'm tired."

"I don't see the harm in it," Negate agreed. Though he wanted to see Brill by nightfall, he too was feeling a bit worn. He strode beside Lisys to a fallen gate, sitting down with her heavily.

Lisys drew her legs to her chest and laid her head on her knees. "When we give word to the novice—please try not to stare at—"

"All right, I will try," Negate answered, cutting her off as soon as he knew what she would request. "I suppose the sensitivity of the matter requires some decency."

"Yes," she answered, a tinge of anger in her voice. "It does."

"So," Negate shifted, eager to turn the subject to something other than his habitual flaws, "what were the couple like?" he asked, thinking that his sister might like to hear a cliché story of how-the-pretty-couple-found-peace-together later on.

"Oh, well, Samuel loved her so much that he actually—" Lisys began, but was cut off as Negate gasped.

A fireball had struck him from behind, and while not ultimately powerful, the painful surprise stole his breath and caused him to slump over momentarily.

"What on Azeroth…?" Lisys asked, at first not comprehending. Then she stood suddenly, turning around with such force she nearly threw herself over. Standing behind them was Jibreel, the woman they'd fought earlier, and behind her at least a couple dozen spell casters, all crusaders. Somehow, they had managed to sneak their way around the tiny town, past the deathgaurds, ending up here—behind the cemetery.

Jibreel stared at Lisys and Negate with disdain, knuckles white on the hilt of her weapon. She recognized the fools immediately—a warlock, natural sinners and consorts of demons, and an undead, a mockery of human life.

Negate stood up as well, turning to face the impossible odds with Lisys. While many of these crusaders were far weaker than the unlikely duo, their sheer number meant they'd die before they could pick all of them off. And yet… they did not attack.

Jibreel approached the two, holding a rusty knife in one hand, the other outstretched. A stoney expression set on her face, she approached the two until she was close enough to kiss, and shouted something in common at them. She knew well enough that they would not understand, but if they were even fractionally smarter than they appeared to her, she figured they could guess her intentions.

Lisys whimpered quietly, shifting her eyes to Negate. "Why aren't we dead yet? … What is she saying?"

"I think… I think that she wants the letter you stole off of Meven Korgal," Negate whispered back, unable to arrive at any other explanation.

Lisys started. Until this point, she had completely forgotten all about it.

"Yes!" shouted Jibreel with a snarl as she heard the name of her fallen superior. Her pronunciation was off, somehow—probably a word she'd never really learned, but had picked up at some point.

"Well we can't very well give them to her if they are so important," Lisys whispered to Negate, half shying away from Jibreel's hateful glare. "But I don't really want to die, either…"

"Hush," Negate ordered. "I've got an idea." Putting a hand in the air as a universal nonthreatening gesture, he slowly lowered his bag off of his shoulder and onto the ground. From it he produced the letter he'd begun for his sister, folded neatly, then stood. Praying this woman did not take the time to read it, he rose to his feet again and gently handed it to her.

Jibreel took the paper without a second glance, pocketing it. She then looked at Negate with an honest, grateful look in her eyes, before raising her old dagger and slashing down hard upon him.

"Cheating wench!" Lisys shouted in a fury, tackling the woman before the motion was scarcely completed. All sense of sanity left Lisys, and she could feel nothing but her burning hatred for everything this woman represented. In fact, so far gone were her wits that Lisys ripped the old knife away from Jibreel to attack her with the woman's own weapon, as opposed to using her own much healthier dagger. This affront to her traveling partner would not be tolerated, and she resolved within her mind instantly that she would have this woman's body for dinner.

Negate could feel that his robes were heavy with blood, but he did his best to ignore it, daring not to look down, lest the sight of it break his concentration. All of the mages were charging now, prepared to rain down upon Lisys with fire. The situation was helpless, Negate knew, but perhaps if he could distract even some of them, Lisys could at least have time to achieve vengeance on the foul creature with which she wrestled before they died.

He rose his hand to conjure a shadow bolt, but before he could finish casting, a worn hatchet came down hard upon the mage's skull, cracking it open and instantly killing him. Seemingly in the blink of an eye, the same fate befell the man beside him, and the woman beside he.

All eyes—even Lisys and Jibreel's—shifted unto Deathgaurd Oliver as, with a maniacal laugh, he easily slaughtered every last one of the crusaders before him. Only Jibreel herself was lucky enough to escape, and only because Lisys's grip faltered in all of the confusion, allowing her to slip away unnoticed.

When all was said and done, Oliver stood in the center of a cemetery littered with dead humans, a wicked expression pulling over his dark features. "I will be winning my pool," he said with a menacing scoff, before turning and nonchalantly returning to duty.

Lisys collapsed as Negate watched the guard go with apprehension. He had seen so little of the deathgaurd—and yet he was absolutely certain he loathed the man. By now struggling to ignore the pain exploding out of the gash dealt by the Scarlet Crusader, Negate turned to Lisys, tearing his mind away from Oliver.

"Are you okay?" he asked.

In her hands, Lisys held what Negate assumed was the rusty knife the crusader had used—probably left behind in all of the confusion. But she stared at it with such a horror that Negate would think she was holding some sort of time bomb.

Almost unable to hear Negate over the buzzing in her ears, Lisys held the old dagger out at arms' length, covering her eyes with her opposite hand. She then uncovered them, expecting to be holding her own knife, or some other object of no significance, but it was not so. The old knife she had taken from the crusader remained. Struggling to keep the fear out of her face, she repeated the action.

"Lisys!" Negate half-shouted. Though he'd never admit to it, her lack of reply greatly unnerved him, and he began to wonder if perhaps Jibreel had inflicted some invisible damage Negate was unaware of.

Snapping back into the present, Lisys allowed the instrument to fall from her hands. "Oh, sorry, I just—" she breathed, but a glance up at Negate caused her to stop in mid-sentence. "You're hurt!" she shouted, sockets wide with fear.

Finally allowing himself a glance downward, Negate found that his arm was instinctively clutching a deep gash sliced diagonally through his chest. The left sleeve of his robe drooped down over his shoulder, loose from the tear she'd created in his robes. Shifting his arm as to better obscure the thick, red liquid oozing around his arm, he returned his gaze to Lisys.

"I'm fine," he assured.

*END CH3: NIGHTMARES*

^ BEGIN: DISCUSSION^

**Fallenfaeangel: **Wow, just wow. I am actually kind of honored. I mean this in all sincerity—I've never had surgery before and I can't imagine how much it must suck, I mean you'll be bed-ridden, right? Well I'm really glad that I'm able to give you some entertainment. I almost just wanted to work quicker just for that.

**Aleor: **stfu n00b.

**Escalus: **I'd def. appreciate it. Please, feel free to come unto my realm and review me any time! =D

So, this one came out about three days quicker than I said it would. That is a good thing. Being that I'm back in school and work is slow, I'mma have the next one done in a week in a half maybe—so the twelfth maybe? Maybe quicker. The next chapter will be a little bit easier to write than this one was, so.

Also, you may notice I bumped the rating up to M for safety. I figure that teens can handle sex and gore, but when the two come together might have some problems and get their panties in a bunch, who knows. Some people are prudes.

^END: DISCUSSION^

_Last revised & updated: 4-23-08_


	5. Chapter 4

*BEGIN: CHAPTER 4*

//SET LOCATION: SILVERMOON CITY

"_Don't be foolish!" shouted a pretty female ranger, bow strung, arrow prepared to strike true. "Return our princess, or suffer the consequences!" _

"_You're too late!" cackled a wicked-looking skeleton with a long, purple cape. "I have hidden her away! The Princess of Quel'Thalas is mine!" _

"_That's what you think!" countered a small dark-haired elf as she fell from the sky, landing perfectly on her feet in the midst of the scene. She was clad in all black, with the exception of a red bandana concealing her nose and mouth. "I, Negatory Voidbreaker, master thief, have stolen back the princess!"_

"Quel'Thalas has a princess now, does it?" Phasilica asked, interrupting Negatory's game.

Negatory smiled boldly, holding several dolls in her hands, one of which she had purposefully tailored to look like a mature version of herself. "Yes! Well, Quel'Thalas _did _have a princess before the evil scourge took her, but now I am in the process of taking her back!" she explained dramatically, finding herself at once within Phasilica's tiny kitchen within her tiny loft. On the table before her she had set the dolls up to her liking with intricate scenery made from books and other house-hold items.

"I see," Phasilica answered, glancing over the top of the morning news paper between her bony hands. Though Forsaken, Priestess Phasilica had served as a sort of replacement mother to Negatory for nearly five years, just about ever since they first met. There was a matronly quality to her that counter-balanced the inherently childish nature attributed to Negatory.

By undead standards, Phasilica was also still quite pretty. Living, she had always been quite tall and skinny—this effect was magnified as she naturally lost the weight credited to organs which were no longer necessary in the event of her death, giving her a very lithe, regal appearance. The skin and muscle had long since worn away from her joints, as in all undead, but a simple procedure involving the cutting away of jagged skin helped avoid the gory look.

Her face was mostly in tact: her eyes were missing, but high, soft eyebrows nearly nullified their necessity and kept her expression benevolent, if not slightly strict. Her top lip was full and unassuming, but the bottom absent, exposing tiny, straight lower teeth. Still, she had all the skin left needed to command a full range of emotions as normal. Above the face, pitch-black hair was styled behind her head, so that the ends flared in the back like a sort of crown, as though held by a clip. To complete her rich look, she wore an expensive robe of mysterious origins with various dark intermingling colors and two chains sewn decoratively into the skirt.

"And how long do you suppose stealing back this princess will take?" Phasilica asked.

"Mmm, it could take all morning," Negatory answered thoughtfully, shifting around in the loose red festival suit she'd used as pajamas for years. "Is there something else you need me to do?"

"No," Phasilica answered, shifting the papers around in her hands to read the continuation of a story. "But I am expected to speak at a memorial service this afternoon, and if you'd like, you may accompany me," she offered while her empty eyes scanned the paper.

Negatory giggled, moving her dolls around. "But you're not a holy priest, silly!"

Phasilica set the paper down, folding it neatly, then tapping Negatory's nose lightly. "Would you believe me if I told you that I once was?"

"No!" Vaschel scoffed, managing to catch the tail end of the conversation as he barged into Phasilica's small loft.

Since the sacking of Silvermoon City, neither Vaschel nor the Voidbreakers could interest themselves in bothering with a new home. Phasilica was the only member of the makeshift family who'd bothered to invest in any sort of permanent living quarters, situated atop a local shop in the south of the city. While it was arranged for one, with a single bedroom, living space, and kitchen, she frequently found herself hosting for others, as she had with Negatory the night before, and it was customary for her friends to enter without knocking.

"Good morning, Vaschel!" Negatory cooed, turning to face him as he entered the kitchen.

He paused his confident waltz to wrap his arms around the smaller elf from behind and plant a kiss on her face. "Good morning, Negatory!" he returned. The disshelved state of his hair suggested he'd spent the night in an alley, but the women could tell he'd stopped at the inn at some point because he had since resumed carrying a great axe, an accessory he was rarely seen without.

The weapon was, as its name suggested, was a great double-headed battle axe, decorated but functional. Even unarmored, Vaschel preferred to carry the axe around _just in case._ It was a security-blanket-like-thing.

"Ewww," she squealed, wiping her cheek feverously with her sleeve.

Vaschel replaced the kiss on her face after she'd finished wiping off the last, then took a seat a top the tiny table—also right on top of Phasilica's paper and in the middle of Negatory's playing space. "Now what's this I hear about holiness?" he asked.

"Never mind, Vaschel," Phasilica answered with a slight frown, trying to pull the paper from beneath him.

Vaschel shifted his weight as to wedge the paper more firmly between his butt and the table, then bent to the left to plant a kiss on Phasilica's face as well. "Don't keep secrets from me!" he whined in mid-action.

Phasilica dodged his lips, leaning back in her chair as far as she could without falling over, "Goodness, Vaschel, it's not even noon yet, and you're already drinking?"

"Wrong! I am still buzzed from last night!" Vaschel corrected, a big, confident smile on his face as he brought himself upright, leaning back slightly with palms flat on the table.

"Right," Phasilica sighed, running her fingers over her hair unconsciously.

Negatory reached around Vaschel, gathering her toys as she stared at him disapprovingly. "You shouldn't drink like you do—it's super bad for your health! Also, have you seen Nate yet?" she asked, looking at him with piteous hopefulness.

Vaschel ignored the first comment just as Negatory assumed he would. "No—haven't seen him in a while," he answered thoughtfully, but then added quickly, "I'm sure he's fine."

Negatory did not appear quite so certain. "This really isn't like him…" she whimpered, squirming. "He wouldn't just run off for so long, at the least he would say something first…"

"He's fine!" Vaschel repeated irately, rolling his eyes.

"I haven't seen him for some time, either," Phasilica mused, taping boney claws on the table. "Don't worry, Tory, we'll find him. Get dressed and we'll start looking."

"Yay!" Negatory squealed, jumping up from the table, leaving the dolls behind as she dashed into the dressing room.

Vaschel watched her run off uninterestedly, then picked through the dolls around him curiously. "Isn't she kind of old for these?" he asked. "What is she, sixteen?"

"She's twenty, and a girl is never too old for dolls," Phasilica answered with a light smile. "Besides, it's cute."

"Twenty, I'll be damned…" Vaschel muttered, coming across a human doll. He stared at it disdainfully for a moment before pulling its hair, popping off her head. "You better not rope me into this search."

"Oh?" Phasilica stood, walking to stand in front of him with arms crossed. "And if I do?"

"I'm not going," Vaschel scoffed as-a-matter-of-factually. "Negate is just fine, and besides, I'mma spend all day helping some dragons in Outland."

"That's very noble of you," Phasilica humored him, unable to help a smile.

"I thought so," Vaschel returned smugly.

"Especially the part where you spend a few hours helping a little girl find her brother _first. _Vaschel, she's worried and she's right—this really isn't like him."

Vaschel's face fell and he loosed a sigh. "I know. It's out of character for him, and I'm kind of curious too—but if we go out looking and don't find him, our little girl will have a fit."

"I can't imagine why we wouldn't," Phasilica remarked, though there was merit to his words. "You don't think that something really did happen… do you?"

"No," Vaschel scoffed. "He's probably getting some action! It's about time, too—he was starting to get a little too tightly wound—like he was turning into you or something." He snorted disrespectfully.

"Reeeaaadie!" shouted a fully-dressed Negatory, returning to the kitchen. She'd slipped on a black wool dress that Phasilica had sewn for her just a few short days ago. She had also tied her hair with a brightly colored hair tie. "Shall we go?"

Phasilica nodded, sheathing a small spell-casting knife, just in case. "Good news, Vaschel has decided to accompany us."

"Yess!" Negatory jumped, celebrating. "Let's goooo!" she squealed, hurrying out the door and into the sunlight, spirits high. Surely between the three of them they would find Negate—how could they not?

Phasilica followed after, moving with such grace that she appeared to float, while Negatory skipped ahead and Vaschel lumbered heavily behind.

"Where shall we look first?" Negatory wondered aloud as she skipped right out to the street. "I already checked the inn."

In the day time, the blood elfin capital appeared slightly less barren than it would in the night: here and there, a visitor would pass or stop to ask for directions. Actual citizens would wander past, too, or stand beneath expensive woven tents attempting to peddle their wares to the unsuspecting. The beauty of the city, combined with the added health injected by the daytime, made for a clever disguise.

"I say we check bar and liquor venders," Vaschel suggested, lifting a high, blonde eyebrow.

"No!" Negatory hissed angrily. "He only drinks with you, and you're here with us! Besides, it's too early. He wouldn't drink this early anyway."

"Hmm…" Vaschel rubbed his goatee, thinking heavily. "…I think we should check anyway."

"Vaschel, behave," Phasilica answered with a snarl. "At least wait for last night's inebriation to wear."

Vaschel grunted, crossing his arms. "I was just kidding…"

"Negate!" Negatory shouted, now ignoring the scene behind her. "I wonder if he left the city…" she mused aloud.

"Why would he leave?" Phasilica asked, shifting her attention off of Vaschel.

"I don't think he would, but I already searched the whole city last night, I think…" Negatory answered.

"Well we better look again," Vaschel determined thoughtfully. "The best action is usually within the walls."

"Perhaps he is not out for action," Phasilica challenged, lifting a thin eyebrow. "Perhaps he's out getting stronger."

"Please," Vaschel scoffed. "That would mean leaving Negatory. He'll never get out of here."

Negatory hung her head quietly with a fidget. Her brother was born with an affinity for magic, and someday he hoped to hone his skills, but she was always too young to be left alone. Then, after the scourge invasion, when it finally seemed like Negate would earn the freedom he deserved, she was too scared to be left alone.

For a brief moment, she wondered if she shouldn't let well enough alone—return to staying with Phasilica and let Negate come back when he was ready. But no—this disappearance was far too out of character to ignore, and if he really was in trouble, Negatory determined it was best she find him as soon as possible.

"Negatory? … Are you okay?" Phasilica asked, lightly waving a hand in front of Negatory's face.

"Mm, sorry, I was spacing out…" Negatory replied, smiling sunnily. "Just thinking, you know? Maybe we should all split up. I'll search the south, Phasilica can take the north, and you," she pointed a slim finger at Vaschel, "You will search outside the gate, where there aren't any liquor vends or… _action_."

"What?" Vaschel asked, scowling, "then how am I to keep myself entertained!?"

"By searching," Phasilica answered authoritatively. She nodded a silent agreement with Negatory before announcing, "We meet back here at noon." Then, signifying that the discussion was closed, she turned away and headed north.

Vaschel watched her walk for a moment before turning to Negatory. "All right, fine. I guess we're splitting up. You better stay within the damn city, though," he growled at her. "I got Eversong covered, so there's no cause for you to even worry about it. If this turns from a 'find Negate' adventure into a 'find-little-girl' adventure, I'll be mad."

She waved him off disrespectfully. "Fine, fine, see you at noon."

Vaschel stared at Negatory suspiciously a moment before heading toward Sheppard's Gate.

xwx

//SET LOCATION: DEATHKNELL

"Imagine that," Jibreel smirked, turning the useless envelope over in her hand. "They gave me a stupid letter." Her hand was bleeding lightly from a small wound inflicted during the course of her struggle with the undead girl, and as her eyes absorbed the enclosure, tiny streams of blood trickled onto the paper. She was sitting calmly atop a half-ruined chair, subconsciously rubbing a freshly bandaged leg with her fingers.

Beside her sat a blonde mage, male, watching her curiously. "What?"

"That elf gave me this useless letter," Jibreel clarified, smirking in his direction. "Not exactly the top secret documents I wanted." Not that she had expected any less. The plan was to demand the papers, kill the wretched demon consort and undead girl, then search their bodies. She wouldn't have guessed they would give her anything at all—still, she was hopeful.

"What a disaster," replied the mage, holding his head in his hands. "I lost a brother over a letter. What's it even say?"

She tore open the envelope with a scowl, glancing over its contents. "Appears to be in Thalasian," she answered. "Mmm, sorry about your brother… I never took into consideration that a guard would hear it, not from the cemetery."

The young man appeared to be disturbed by the apathy with which she handled his brother's death: as if she had misplaced something insignificant or had accidentally insulted him in some minor way so that a light-hearted apology was all that was necessary. "It… it was unfortunate," he replied.

She stared at the useless scrap of paper hard for several minutes, seeking nothing in particular, when a group of meaningless symbols caught her eye. She looked the whole page over, suspecting at first that her eyes played tricks, but no other piece stood out as did this section of unintelligible scrawl. "I've seen this before…" she whispered.

"What is it?" he asked, standing as to look over her shoulder.

"I've seen this before," she repeated, louder. "Do we have anyone on site that speaks Thalasian?" she asked, chewing a finger thoughtfully.

"Antony does a little," the mage answered, walking away in a bit of a hurry. "I'll go get him."

She watched him go, frowning quietly. In all the years she'd known Ex, she'd never seen him so eager to get away from her. Furthering her surprise, he merely sent Antony to her as opposed to returning to her along with him. She attributed this easily to the loss of his brother and did not concern herself much with it.

"What can I help you with?" Antony asked, appearing impatient. With Meven Korgal dead, Antony was promoted camp leader.

"Ex told me you could read some Thalasian. I recognize these symbols, and I was hoping you could tell me what it says," Jibreel answered, quick and to the point. She didn't bother to explain her interest beyond that—it was common knowledge among the new recruits that Jibreel was orphaned at a young age, and in the way that orphans do, seeking for any knowledge pertaining to her heritage.

Antony frowned deeply, irritated that she should bother him over something so trivial, but he answered her all the same. "This symbol here means it's a proper name. Vaschel or Vaschelle."

If the symbols looked familiar, the sound was doubly so. "I see." She answered. "Is it a person?"

"Could be—could be a street. Now leave me be, I have compromised documents to worry about!" he snarled.

Jibreel watched him go silently, and then looked back on the letter. "How do I know you, Vaschel?" she muttered before tearing the paper into tiny pieces.

xwx

//SET LOCATION: SILVERMOON CITY

"Excuse me," Phasilica stopped a city guard as he patrolled the street politely. "I am looking for Negate Voidbreaker, you wouldn't remember seeing a man by that name, would you?"

As did all residents of the city, the guard dressed in a rich fashion that almost too flashy for Phasilica's taste; his primary garment a robe of royal red with gold trimmings.

He stared at her strangely a moment, as the elves sometimes would while Phasilica goes about the city unaccompanied by one of Silvermoon's own race. Then, a flash of realization crossed his face. "Right, ah, no, I have not. You're the priestess, aren't you?" he asked her, looking her over thoroughly. As one of the first Forsaken to enter Quel'Thalas, she had achieved some level of fame so that occasionally a stranger would ask her this question.

"Yes, I am," Phasilica answered courteously before turning away. "I will keep looking, thank you," she added, by way of cutting the conversation short, though in truth, she wasn't exactly sure what she would do. The situation appeared to be taking a turn for the worst—no one had seen nor heard from Negate in quite some time.

xwx

"Not here—not here," Negatory mumbled, not in the least surprised when her search turned up nothing. Frustrated, she halted in front of the Wayfarer's Rest Inn and slumped down onto the clean white steps. All morning she hunted, asking anyone who would pause to listen if they remembered anyone by Negate's description.

At one point, a troll shaman looking to visit a friend in the very inn behind her stated that he thought he'd seen an elf resembling her brother in party with an Alliance raid, but of course, it couldn't have _really _been Negate. The idea was actually so comical she forgave the troll for getting her hopes up.

And so she was left here, in front of the very place her search had begun the night before, fighting a sense cruel sense of hopelessness and dread.

"_Negate wouldn't do this to me," _she thought, flirting with the agony of the unknown within her young mind. _"He'd never just abandon you like this. He'd sooner die than leave you alone. He said that. He'd sooner die…" _

"Stop that!" she ordered herself aloud, clasping tiny hands over her ears, determined not to let poisonous thoughts get the better of her. If something wasn't right, she'd have to keep herself together, or she'd only serve to drag everyone around her down.

Snapping her head up with determination, Negatory couldn't help but notice that from her vantage point, the Sheppard's Gate was just barely visible. Leaning harder against the stone pillar wall to her back, she could almost make out the golden statue as he stood proud guard over the city.

"You'll never find your brother in _here,"_ it mocked.

Defiantly, Negatory stood with a scowl. She determined to only peek around the city a little, just to make sure Negate wasn't lying around half-dead or worse. She could handle herself if she didn't go far—Vaschel babied her too much, and besides, she doubted he was doing his job very well. If she knew Vaschel, he was sitting right outside the city, drinking and trying to pick someone up.

The only option for her was clear: she needed to go out and look for Negate herself, even if it meant disobeying her friends. Resolute, she hopped up from her spot on the steps and skipped unto Sheppard's Gate, craftily exiting the city.

Emerging on the other side of the gate told her exactly what she suspected: barely a stone's throw from where she stood, Vaschel sat on a decorative bench, drinking with a pretty redhead. Rolling her own pretty green eyes, Negatory slunk expertly—as is the way of the rogue—to a staircase on the left of the occupied bridge, and with a giddy squeal she could barely contain, Negatory made a dash for the east.

xwx

Immediately after parting with the girls, Vaschel obediently exited the city, but did not search, opting instead to sit heavily upon the first bench he encountered. It wasn't as if he was completely without worry. Negate's disappearance was mysterious; though Vaschel had known the man to spend a weekend here and there sleeping away a hangover in an alley next to himself, Vaschel had never known Negate to be anything other than extremely responsible.

Still, if Negate took a brief vacation, Vaschel couldn't blame him, either. Intelligently, he decided it was best not to amplify Negatory's unnecessary worries by adding his own.

"Hey," whispered a sweet voice in his ear, unclouding his thoughts. "This seat taken?"

"Daynha?" Vaschel asked in wonder, scooting over quickly as he searched for the source of the noise.

"So it is!" Replied Daynha, a cute paladin of moderate strength, as she hopped over the back of the bench and assumed a seat beside him. Unlike Vaschel, she was fully armored, and from beneath her helmet, her voice was distorted, explaining away Vaschel's initial confusion.

Vaschel chuckled light-heartedly, smacking the plate from her head, causing it to harmlessly clang to the ground behind them. "You look ready for an adventure."

"Just back from one!" she answered, shifting long, red hair out of her face as it fell from its previous position, piled atop her head. "What are you up to?"

"Sitting," he answered with a grunt, pulling his axe from his back and planting it heavily upon the ground before him, giving him something to lean his arms on. "You don't have anything… do you?"

Requiring no explanation, Daynha shifted a heavy bag from her shoulder and dug through its contents. "As if I would come see you without bringing you anything…" she laughed, producing a pint of strong whiskey.

"Great sun!" Vaschel exhaled, ripping the flask from her hand and throwing it back like some sort of trained professional. He cast aside the empty container a mere second later with a relieved sigh. "I owe you."

"I know," Daynha answered lightly, leaning back comfortably. "How many years are between us, Vaschel?" she asked suddenly.

Looking at her with some surprise, he crunched the numbers in his head. For such a simple equation (forty-five subtract forty), it appeared to take some heavy thought. Finally, he answered, "Six."

"Yeah, that's right, isn't it?" Daynha concurred, grinning pointedly at him. "But when we were kids, you know, it always seemed like ten—you were always so sure of yourself. When my mother dragged me to church, it was because she wanted me to be a cute little priestess and marry myself a respectable mage, or something stupid like that… but I knew from the day I met you that it just wasn't me. I used to watch you all the time thinking, 'yeah, I want to be him!'"

Never opposed to flattery, Vaschel smirked. "And were you successful?"

"No," Daynha shook her head. "I still pass out after a few shots."

Vaschel laughed out loud, devilish smile widening. "If you want to compete with me that way, you're going to have to grow a foot or two."

Daynha giggled, laying her head on Vaschel's arm quietly. "But seriously—I owe everything that I am to you… so I came here to ask you something," she half-whispered seriously, lifting her head again.

"Hm?" Vaschel watched her intently, again surprised. It wasn't a commonality for people to seek out Vaschel's _wisdom._

"Well…" struggling to find her words, she squirmed almost uncomfortably, causing Vaschel to lean closer. "I guess… I was sparring with this kid the other day, and he was confident in the way that kids are, but more than that he… these young blood knights, they don't get it, don't know what it's like to be honestly holy," she began, fiddling with her fingers nervously. "What I'm trying to ask is… was it right for us to abandon the light?"

Vaschel licked his lips thoughtfully before opening his mouth to answer, but before any sort of useful utterance was made, a high-pitched scream from somewhere behind the pair interrupted. Eager to avoid the subject anyway, Vaschel stood quickly, turning around. "What was that?"

Daynha laughed softly, shaking her head. "Of course. Go ahead—defend all that is righteous and good. We can talk about this later."

"Oh, I intend to," Vaschel snickered as another scream sounded, appearing to originate from the Dead Scar. As much as he enjoyed Daynha's company, he enjoyed vanquishing the undead and rescuing maidens in peril tenfold. Leaping over the bench and off of the bridge, he barely bid Daynha a proper farewell.

Eversong Woods, the quiet forest encompassing the south side of Silvermoon City, was a beauty to behold, just as was anywhere within the blood elfin kingdom, except for the lonely depression known as the _Dead Scar._ The scar itself was a strip of land stretching through the whole of Quel'Thalas through which the Scourge army marched during the Third War. The extreme masses of the plagued undead, moving in unison over a thin, tight trail, cut deeply into the earth itself, leaving a deep gouge where the soil was scorched by hell fire, and where nothing new or pure could grow. Complicating matters, undead scourge were irresistibly attracted to the festering rot within, and as such the area was consistently filled with the mindless heathens: skeletons, zombies, banshees, and worse.

Negatory had never seen the Dead Scar herself before, and did not recognize it immediately from second-hand accounts. Unfortunately curious, she found herself wandering in that direction as soon as she caught sight of the depression, and just as she laid eyes upon the undead within, a gentle, unintelligent nudge from a dragonhawk hatchling pushed her in with a startled scream.

She fell hard with a thump, sprawling out upon the blackened soil dumbly. Dizziness accompanied the fall momentarily, but instinctively Negatory drew herself upright, gazing around her with wide, green eyes. Instantly, her gaze was met by the hellish stare of a clean, white skeleton, and before she could halt herself, Negatory screamed once more.

One day, Negatory hoped to be a master thief. She wanted to explore the world, to steal from the richest, most esteemed inhabitants of Azeroth, and yet, even her rock-hard ambition was beaten savagely back by one thing: the intense, debilitating fear of the scourge.

Even if she were capable of fighting the skeletons that approached her, swords ready, teeth gnashing, she would have lost: she was unarmed and not very strong to begin with.

The tiny elf shut her eyes hard as she could, covering her face up with white knuckles as tears gushed between shut fingers. Unwanted flashes of nightmares assaulted her every sense: kissing cracked lips on the sore, sick body of the strongest man she knew for what she was certain would be the last time—the screaming agony of insanity as her own brother turned on himself for want of magic—watching the mangled bodies of everyone she'd ever known drip from the mouths of hungering, mindless animals… Her tiny frame wracked with sobs as the visions beneath her eyelids found themselves tinted with the ungodliest shade of red, until she was certain her coming fate could be no worse than what she was had already witnessed, and she physically pried back her eyelids to stop the past from killing her first, even if it meant watching these ugly things tear and devour her own body alive.

"Negatory!" boomed a familiar, commanding voice from behind her, as Vaschel connected a face to the cries, and all humor drained from the situation.

Breaking his jog in favor of a heavy sprint, Vaschel crossed the short distance between the unholy ground and himself faster than any mortal had ever crossed a distance twice the size before him, and yet his heart nearly broke in anguish as he became conscious of the very milliseconds screaming past his ears as the scourge approached his Negatory.

With several feet left to go he jumped, landing heavily on the ground below in a crouch. At his touch a surge of light exploded through the unholy ground, overpowering its dark energies in a tight circle around himself and the quivering girl behind him. The very dirt buckled, groaning and churning all the way to the core of Azeroth itself, throwing up a great, black cloud of dust. As the unholy scourge entered the circle of light, they perished, rotting instantly in the wake of its awesome power.

Again, Negatory shut her eyes, dirt caking in her tears, stinging her eyes. Powerful arms encompassed her a mere fraction of a second later, and before she could pry them open again she was tossed down upon normal, natural grass. Landing on her rump with a thud, she cried out in pain and her eyes unwillingly opened themselves, allowing the blackened dust within, clouding their green light.

"Negatory!" Vaschel snarled, both fists clenched tightly. "I told you to stay in the goddamn city!" he erupted, struggling against the sort of white-hot rage that derives only from the intense fear of what _could _have happened.

"I—I'm sorry!" Negatory answered through a half-choked sob.

"Sorry!?" Vaschel asked, bending until their noses touched. Instinctively she attempted to hide her face, at which Vaschel's large hand curled into her pony tail, holding her in place. "You could have _died, _Negatory! What would it matter if we found your brother then, hm!?" he demanded with no regard to the fact that anyone within a mile could probably hear the argument.

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry!" Negatory sobbed, throwing her arms around Vaschel's neck. "I don't want to die! I just want to know where my brother is!" she wailed despairingly, burying her face into his neck.

Vaschel grit his teeth momentarily before falling fully onto his knees, wrapping his arms around the tiny, shaking body before him silently.

It seemed to him like ages before her crying slowed, but when it did she sat back from him, rubbing dust furiously from her eyes. "Please," she sniffled, "Please don't tell Phasilica," she begged, signifying she had regained herself.

Vaschel scoffed, standing. "Damn right I'm telling her! Let's go."

"Nooo!" Negatory howled. "You'll get me in so much trouble! You know how she is!"

"I should think you deserve the trouble!" Vaschel returned, anger starting to rise within him again.

"No! No! Just throw me back into the scar, then!" Negatory shouted, turning to scramble away from Vaschel.

Irately he bent over once more, pulling the girl over his shoulder, sack-of-potatoes style, before turning to head back to the city. "Stop throwing a fit!" he demanded as she began beating uselessly on his shoulders and back with tiny fists.

"You're so mean!" Negatory howled, squirming as hard as she could. "Put me down! What did I do to deserve such a mean drunk for a friend!?"

"Great sun!" Vaschel pressed a hand hard to his forehead, doing his best to ignore the tiny elf over his shoulder. "Holy light, please send Negate home soon, I can't deal with this shit!" he begged.

*END: CHAPTER 4*

_Last revised 5-7-09_


	6. Chapter 5

*BEGIN: CHAPTER 5*

// SET LOCATION: DEATHKNELL

"This is excessive," Negate grunted in displeasure at the back of Lisys's head.

Immediately upon the realization that Negate had been cut, Lisys sprung to her feet to examine the diagonal gash across his chest. She tossed the rusty dagger she'd been holding aside, easily forgetting all about the cruel implement by the time she'd closed the distance between herself and the elf. Bending her head, she closely examined the gash, and to her relief, it was already beginning to close normally.

"I'm sorry," Lisys exhaled, straightening her back and shifting her gaze away. "It just looked awful…"

Negate pulled his robes closed, pointedly lifting an elongated eyebrow in her direction. "It will mend by the time we've left the graveyard. Sooner, if you don't stop loitering. Have you never seen a cut before?"

She shrugged shyly, stepping aside to allow him to move around her. In truth, she'd seen several cuts in her day. However, she hadn't seen a wound _bleed_ in a long, long time, and it gave her very mixed feelings. On one hand it made her nervous and worried—to her, it looked like the very symbol if pain. On the other, it filled Lisys with a giddy excitement; it reminded her that he was alive, that he was warm, that beneath that oozing wound his heart was beating—the gash was a reminder of all the reasons she could force herself to tolerate another in the long string of men to mistreat her.

Keeping her thoughts to herself, she turned on her heels and followed him from the grave yard. "After we've spoken with Executor Arren, we should get your robes fixed."

"We'll take care of that on the way to Brill," Negate answered with a shake of his head. "I want to leave as soon as possible—there may be work for us to pick up along the way."

"And until then, you'll run around half-naked?" Lisys asked, following his sleeve with her eyes as the shoulder of his robe once more dropped off, dragging the shirt with it, exposing his muscles marred by a long , red slash. Bringing empty sockets back to his face, she instantly regretted asking the question, for she already knew the answer.

Negate smirked. "I would be more than happy to spread my good looks about this pathetic wood," he answered, striking a pose briefly before drawing his robes shut once more.

Lisys did not dignify this with an answer, simply quickened her pace toward the town warden.

"Arren!" she called, in a relieved tone.

"Lisys," Arren acknowledged as the pair neared him.

"We've killed the goddamn spiders," Negate informed, fiddling with his clothing. "But it's still infested with them—hm. Good luck mining anything."

Arren glanced Negate over, silently wondering how Negate managed to obtain such an injury from a spider, but said nothing. If it were not for his own Dark Lady once a blood elf herself, he would never have believed there was any substance to this race at all. Instead, he nodded grimly at Negate's comment.

"Well, so be it. We've more pressing matters—as the Scarlet Crusade. The damn zealots continue to set up camp just west of here. You two seem… capable… enough, go kill twelve or so of their recruits. Bring their armbands back to me as proof, but be careful—their unholy zeal makes them dangerous adversaries," the Executor advised.

For a moment, Negate and Lisys appeared quite distressed. This would mean facing that nuisance, Jibreel, all over again—and it seemed she always had a mage or two hiding in the bushes, just waiting to ambush.

Then, while Lisys's face remained horrorstruck, Negate smirked as an idea flashed across his mind. "Accepted." He answered.

The Forsaken girl quickly shifted her attention to Negate, but seeing his smug appearance, did not protest. He had to have been planning something, so she would let it be. But in the meantime, mention of the Scarlet Crusade reminded her of certain documents she'd nearly died twice for.

"While we're here…" she shifted her heavy bag off of her shoulder, dropping it onto the path. Kneeling, she took the opportunity to steal glances at the red line across Negate's chest as once again his garments fell loose, just to ensure it was healing properly, _not _because she liked to look at him.

"Negate and I were attacked by a messenger of some sort," she explained, turning her attention back to the backpack. She produced a small stack of envelopes, then stood to hand them to Executer Arren. "I thought you might be interested."

The warden took the papers from her, reading them over quickly. "Hm, let's see what you've got…Some news of their exploits against us... worthless. Scouting reports... New Orders. 'Continue to build up a camp near the ruined city...' Nothing we didn't know already... Ah, what's this? A map of the disposition of some of their field commanders and agents! We can use this."

"Mmm?" Negate and Lisys both leaned forward with interest.

"These will need to be taken to my superior, Executor Zygand, in Brill. With this information, we'll be able to deal a decisive blow to the Scarlet Crusade. After you've collected the armbands, you're off for Brill anyway, are you not?"

Lisys glanced at Negate for confirmation, then nodded to Arren. "Yes."

"Then take these to my superior there," he handed the envelops back to Lisys. "He may also have more appropriate work for you."

Negate nodded smugly with a confident smirk set upon his face. Only twelve armbands stood between he and the road to Brill, and he had a feeling that this would be one of the quickest kill-quests he and his traveling partner ever had the pleasure of completing. "We'll return momentarily," Negate answered. He then turned and started back toward the graveyard.

Lisys hurried after curiously. "Are we going the right way?" she asked hesitantly, afraid of sounding stupid.

"The camp is to the east, so technically, no," Negate answered simply.

Lisys exhaled with relief. "So, why this way?"

"I've got an idea," Negate replied. Stepping daintily over gravestones, Negate made his way to the impressive array of dead bodies felled by Oliver mere moments ago. He bent by the corpse of a near-by dead girl and grabbed her by the wrist. Looking only slightly disgusted, he shifted around the body's sleeve, then produced a scarlet arm band. "Tada. There's at least two dozen of these dead idiots here."

Lisys's empty sockets widened a fraction. "Negate, that's—that's cheating!"

"Who gives a damn," Negate scoffed. "I've had about enough of the Scarlet Crusade—haven't you?" he asked.

Lisys nodded truthfully. "Well, yes, but… it feels like stealing," she admitted sheepishly, fidgeting lightly. It was almost tough for her to argue with him, knowing that it was incredibly unlikely to make a difference—and besides, she felt guilty for the attack earlier that morning, as if she was quicker she could have kept Jibreel from inflicting that wondrous gash she took every opportunity to stare at.

"From whom? Oliver?" Negate laughed. "The man started a pool against you. He has it set in his mind that you will fail at everything you do!" The absurdity of her statement bothered Negate for reasons he almost could not place. "Consider this repayment for the mistreatment! By the Gods, your inability to stand up for yourself is obnoxious—what a horrible trait," he snickered, shaking his head. "Uglier than your face."

She flinched inwardly; it was true enough, she had never been famous for a strong backbone. But on the same token, Oliver was special—explaining this to Negate was, of course, useless, however. Licking her mental wounds, she nodded. "I guess so... I mean, I honestly would rather avoid that Jibreel anyway. She seemed, hmm…" Lisys paused midsentence, searching for the right word, as she bent down to help Negate collect the armbands.

"Insane?" Negate questioned, stuffing his bag full of red cloth.

"Insane," Lisys confirmed, smiling genuinely. "Just like the rest of them. Still, she makes me especially uneasy. I wonder if she was born here…" the undead mused aloud.

"Hardly matters," Negate sneered, full of contempt toward Jibreel for ruining his robe. "As soon as we turn these in, we're out of here," he answered, holding up an armband.

"Arren will never believe we've killed twelve of these wretches already," Lisys reminded, closing her backpack.

"You're right," Negate grumbled groggily. "We'll have to kill some time before we return," he half-growled, although the idea of another short rest was not completely unappealing.

"We could take a nap!" Lisys declared happily, taking a seat amidst the bodies, near the wrought iron fence by which they were attacked earlier the same day.

"Hm," Negate shifted a dead man aside with his boot, then perched beside her. "I can't guarantee I would wake again," he answered with a glance over his shoulder at her.

Lisys nodded her agreement. "Likewise… I guess it's a bad idea, then," she sighed, slightly disappointed. As usual, he'd thought ahead. Despite his mien, she was grateful to have met him. "I honestly don't want to delay anymore than you; I am excited to see how Brill has changed."

Negate nodded with understanding. "When was the last time you had visited?"

She drew her legs to her chest and laid her cheek upon them. "Mm, I was alive the last time, maybe… fifteen or twenty years ago?" she answered thoughtfully.

"Hah, it's probably a might drearier now," Negate replied with an ironic laugh which cut off abruptly as another thought entirely struck him. "How old are you?" he asked, lifting elegant eyebrows at her. For reasons he was not quite sure of, he had it in his head that Lisys was young, probably around his sister's age.

"How should I count?" she asked, tilting her head at him curiously. "I was twenty-eight when I died… and I've been dead for something like five years…" she counted out loud.

Negate stared at her with a start. She seemed very innocent for someone only two years his younger (when both existences were added together, of course.) "I see."

Lisys turned to look at Negate. "And you?"

"Thirty-five," he answered.

"Oh," she tilted her head once more, watching him with open surprise. "You look great for thirty-five."

Negate snorted, repaying her compliment, "Oh? You look awful for thirty-three," he mocked.

Lisys turned her head away from his with a frown. "What I meant was, I would have guessed you're younger by looking at you."

Negate nodded civilly.. "By human standards, perhaps, but elves age slower," he explained patiently as opposed to more teasing, which Lisys had expected.

"Why?" she asked shyly, forcing away her frown so she could look at him once more without a fuss.

"We live longer," he answered, staring at her queerly. "You really are naïve, aren't you?"

"I certainly don't know much about elves," Lisys confessed, unoffended. "I've always been curious, though. Oliver's seen a few before and he always made them sound so pretty."

"I can't be the first elf you've ever seen."

"Alive and up close you are," Lisys answered almost fondly.

"Well," he shifted his shoulders back, allowing his robe to fall loose. "I'm certain I have been no disappointment."

The Forsakenness giggled quietly, shaking her head. "No, you're very pretty."

"Well, thank you," he returned smugly, "as little as that means from a girl like you."

"Right," Lisys sighed and looked away once more. "Are they all like you?"

"Who? Like what?" Negate asked, lifting an antennae-like brow.

"Elves," Lisys answered, half-testily. As much as she could not help but like her traveling partner, his taunts were grading—especially after, mere moments ago, he was teasing her for not standing up for herself. "Are they all so pompous?" she spat.

Negate was well aware of his own vices, and took no affront. "For the most part—many are worse, some are better."

Again her irritation melted, replacing itself with curiosity. This being the most level-headed thing Negate had ever said, she wasn't immediately certain how to answer. "Oh…" she muttered finally. "Well… why?"

"It's a deep-rooted racial trait stemming from our iron-clad resolve and dashing good looks," he answered cockily, flashing her a winning smile. "What else do you want to know?"

"Hmmm…" she wiggled around, thinking. "What's Quel'Thalas like?" she asked.

The elf smirked. "I don't imagine how you could even picture it. It's certainly different than this—it's always temperate, never too warm or too cold, and everything is rich and plush and new—all nearly completely rebuilt since the scourge invasion. Looking at Silvermoon, it's almost hard to believe that the undead had come at all."

"Mmm, sounds pretty…" Lisys cooed, watching the sickly green sky of her own homeland, completely lost in thought.

Negate nodded with a sigh. Of course it was pretty—it was all a highly intricate sham. "Come on," he stood. "At this point, I don't care if he believes us or not—I can't stand sitting here anymore."

xwx

Executor Arren stared at the pair suspiciously as they approached a short time after he'd initially sent them.

This mismatched pair took immediate note of his glance and opened their bags, producing twelve armbands each.

"The bastards hardly put up a fight," Negate informed smugly.

Arren was sure to count the armbands twice before releasing his suspicions. "Well done then."

Lisys's natural smile widened. "Then it's off to Brill!"

Negate, feeling quite high-spirited himself, grinned with her. "So it is."

"Remember to deliver those documents to my superior," Arren growled.

Lisys subconsciously adjusted the bag on her shoulder. "Of course."

"And," he shifted his gaze this way and that, speaking in a hushed tone, "I bet in your favor, Lisys, so don't show up again until you're a deathgaurd."

If Lisys could have blushed, she would have. "Oh…" she shifted her gaze away shyly. Arren had not known her in life—he was born elsewhere and stationed here after his death, and as a result she preferred his company over all except for Oliver."Thank you."

"We will leave immediately. He will have the documents by this evening," Negate declared, then turned around making good on his word.

Bursting with excitement that well out-weighed her initial sleepiness, Lisys hurried alongside Negate eagerly.

"What was that deathgaurd nonsense about?" Negate asked as they walked along, instantly curious.

"What nonsense?" Lisys asked, shifting nervously. Of course she knew what he meant—she merely hoped to escape the inevitable ridicule that would spring from indulging him in her dreams and aspirations.

"That nonsense about 'don't come back until you're a deathgaurd' … is that some sort of Forsaken joke that I'm not in on?" he asked.

"No, I… I honestly want to be a deathgaurd someday," Lisys answered almost nervously, unable to think of a way out of the truth.

"Oh?" Negate looked at her queerly. "Why would you want that?"

"Well, Oliver is one, and… I want to do all I can for Sylvanas," she answered just as meekly.

Negate nodded, glancing sidelong at the ruined camp where they'd slaughter Samuel Fipps recently as they passed. "If you ever become strong enough, it would make sense for you—you wouldn't have to leave the city, so getting lost would be a nonissue—and no one cares how attractive the deathgaurds are."

Lisys took the half-encouragement, turning to face him with a smile. "Really!?" she asked eagerly before widening empty sockets and gawking lightly.

Although the air in Tirisfal Glades was a bit chill, Negate had long since become irritated with holding his robes closed and had abandoned the venture all together. Instead, he allowed them to hang wide open, exposing the unnaturally toned muscles that were his birthright as an elf. The gash, once a mean red cut from left shoulder to right hip, was nearly invisible by now; only medium light skin was visible, and when his long, jet-black ponytail shifted to drape over his bare shoulder, the contrast was entrancing.

_The living are beautiful…_ Lisys thought to herself with some guilt. It was probably wrong—possibly even a betrayal to the Dark Lady herself to think in such a way—but she could not help but adore his life, his beating heart, his pulsing veins… Lovingly, she recalled his gash and how he bled. Almost whimpering with longing, she hurried her gaze away, lest he would catch her staring.

"Really," Negate answered casually. "Deathgaurd Lisys. Even sounds misleadingly charming."

"You think so?" she asked him shyly, keeping her gaze turned down.

"Hey, mate! Do a favor for a young man who's been fighting more than his fair share of mindless zombies and spiders?" he asked. The old Forsaken was balding atop his head, wearing plain brown clothing, and carrying around an old dagger, just as any other rogue—and yet, something about him was shadier.

Lisys tilted her head to Negate questioningly, and in response he nodded.

"Go ahead," he consented.

"What will you have us do?" Lisys asked the stranger, moving closer to the man. She did not recognize him as a citizen of this town and was curious, but did not inquire.

"Well, I got this letter here that needs to go to Brill," he informed, holding out a piece of paper. "…to an innkeeper named Renee something-or-other. Don't really matter none what her last name is. Anyway, it's a nice cozy little place full of victims of the plague trying to make their way in the world. And it be a great spot for you to rest too if the need arises. You should check it out... you do and I'll pay you well.

"Sure," Lisys smiled, taking the letter from him. "We were headed that way anyhow—I'll return tomorrow to let you know it was delivered," she informed, then spun on her heels, trotting back to Negate.

Negate rolled his eyes at her demeanor, thinking her to look quite ridiculous when so innocently excited, ugly as she was. "Come on, through the gates," he ordered, starting out of the town.

Lisys followed him, filled with nervous excitement. "Do you think we could hit Brill before the sun goes down?"

"Depends on how much more work we come up with along the way," he answered. "The more, the better."

"Speaking of…" Lisys pointed a boney finger in the direction of a Deathgaurd Simmer, whom was attempting to catch their attention. The unlikely duo looked at one another, then stopped before him.

He dressed in all black, just like any deathguard, glaring at the pair with unholy yellow eyes below a dark hood. "Lisys," he growled with a low, quiet voice, "I understand you're looking to join our ranks, someday.

Mentally cursing Oliver, she nodded her head, wondering silently if Simmer was in on the pool as well.

"If you hope to prove yourself to The Dark Lady, you need to learn the ways of The Forsaken. To the west you'll find a farm. Humans infest the land like mold on a rotting corpse. And worse yet, the Scarlet Crusade patrols nearby from their tower. Teach those scum a lesson and steal 10 of their precious pumpkins. Once you have 10, take them to Apothecary Johaan in Brill."

Unable to suppress a broad smile, she dipped her head in a nod. "I'm on it."

Negate did not appear quite so sure. "You want us to seal their food supply?" he asked, raising his eyebrows.

"Yes," Simmer answered plainly.

"..." Negate frowned, unsure of how this would sit with his conscious later, but since it was only the crusade… "All right, I suppose."

"Remember, report to Apothecary Johaan upon completion, he's got a special use for them I do believe…"

Lisys nodded, looking at Negate, expecting him to know where to go next.

Smirking at her cluelessness, Negate began westward.

xwx

Still panting, Ex was already regretting his weakness. He'd long since lost count of how many times he'd promised himself that he'd never have sex with Jibreel again—it'd probably been up in the hundreds—and yet, once again, he found himself laying on the grass stark naked with that very woman, similarly disrobed, resting her head on his chest while she caught her breath.

"…I have to go," she muttered suddenly, sitting up even though she was still partially gasping.

"Mm," Ex sat up as well with an unhappy sigh. "Are you sure about this? I mean, it sounds like boring work…" he offered hopefully.

"Not any more boring than here," Jibreel laughed coldly, dressing hastily. It seemed to her that ever since she'd gotten word that she would be transferring to patrol the local farm instead of the camp, Ex had produced a hundred reasons why she shouldn't go. Not that she would not miss Ex—she would, she knew, very much crave the reliability and genuine kindness that he offered which she so desperately lacked.

But then, by the same token, she felt no guilt by abandoning him. She'd known him practically since childhood—if at this point he hadn't realized that there was no future with her, then perhaps the separation was ultimately necessary.

"Right," he answered, running his fingers through his hair shortly before dressing as well. "I'll miss you…" he muttered.

"This isn't good-bye," Jibreel reminded, climbing out of the low-lying tent.

"Boots still untied, Ex followed her out. "Right," he answered with a sigh. "Ever remember anything about that name in that letter?"

"No…" she answered with a frown. "But I think whoever it was had something to do with the church. Will you poke around for me?"

"Sure, but why the church?" Ex asked.

"I used to see a lot of elves when I was little," she explained. "It's not a big deal, but…" she shifted her gaze away.

Ex rolled his eyes unhappily. Ever since, some years ago, Jibreel discovered some evidence that one of her biological sisters might, in fact, still be alive, she'd been quite curious. Why the woman wouldn't simply confess she was curious about her own past was beyond Ex—either way, he was not in the mood to argue and simply nodded. "If I find anything I'll let you know."

"thank you," she answered sincerely, grabbing a hold of her bag. "I'm late already—I'll write you, but now I've wasted too much time already," and with a quick wave, she trotted away.

Ex laughed cynically. "Not as much time as I've wasted," he muttered to himself, drifting away to dig up whatever information he could for her, lest he may be deemed useless and forced to fade from her life all together.

xwx

"This place… is crawling with them…" Lisys gasped, half-hiding behind Negate.

Mere moments ago she was chipper, heart all aflutter with the excitement of finally leaving her home town, but upon sight of the human-infested Soliden Farmstead, her resolve melted to fear instantly. Like a shy child she slinked behind Negate's shoulder, staring frightfully at the crowded field.

"Lisys, it's just a farm," Negate reminded with a lift of an eyebrow, shifting aside to re-expose her.

"But…" she exhaled skittishly, then took a deep breath. "It… it's filled with humans."

Negate glanced over his shoulder at her, a steady smirk over-taking his elegant features. "You're scared? … Of them?" he asked, laughing cruelly. "You are far more horrifying than anyone in that field!"

Lisys shifted her gaze away, taking another skittish step back toward the road. "I guess…" she answered quietly.

The elf rolled his eyes, sighing. "Come on, I told you—I won't let the damn humans hurt you—you've got nothing to be afraid of. Great sun, mere hours ago you jumped at that Jibreel like a hellcat, what happened?"

"I don't want to let them hurt you, either…" she answered innocently, taking a deep breath. "Okay, let's do this."

Negate watched her for a moment before nodding. "I'm going to bring out Jublop—don't look at me like that, I don't like it either—so if some stupid farmer tries his luck, he can fight the imp while we collect pumpkins, okay? But he can really only take one at a time, if more than two, we'll have to help."

"Fair," Lisys nodded, regaining confidence. How much damage could a handful of dumb farmers do?

Raising his hands, Negate called the imp from the twisting nether. With its typical angry cackle, the beast appeared in a glow of fel magic.

Lisys covered her ears against its grating laugh, glaring discontently at the creature. She'd tried to get along with the little monster in the past, at which it repaid her by attempting to bite off her fingers. By now, she disliked the creature, and all of its obnoxious ways, as much as Negate himself at least.

The warlock smirked, rather than mocked, her nasty expression for once. "As tempting as it may be, we should not leave him to die in the fields—remember that."

Making a mental note to ask Negate what happens to a demon when they die later on, she nodded. "Okay, ah… you go first."

Shaking his head cynically, Negate strode fearlessly to the fields, easily jumping the fence with imp in tow. As long as he was sneaky, careful to avoid moving too close to a human, they took no notice of him: there were simply too many of them around to take note of any outside infiltration unless Negate ventured close enough to make his differing robes blatantly obvious.

Lisys inhaled with renewed confidence: sneaky she could do. Extremely light on her feet, the Forsakenness leapt the fence and joined Negate in his thieving. It pleased her beyond undeath to think that she was finally of use to the Dark Lady, and she almost did not notice when a farmer stuck her from behind with a pitch fork.

Spinning wildly, Lisys was startled to find not one, but two of the aforementioned stupid farmers standing right behind her, watching her hatefully as she stared back stupidly. She'd known these men—both of them.

"Lisys!" Negate shouted at her from somewhere behind with a half growl, but she did not respond.

It seemed unreal to her that a mere half-decade ago she sat across from these gentlemen, brothers if she recalled correctly, at church every other day, and now they held pitchforks and prepared to impale her.

"Lisys!" Negate repeated, grabbing her shoulder with one hand as he pushed a bolt of dark energy unto the men.

Startled, she jerked her dagger out, taking a step back before springing forward again, mercilessly stabbing at the other. She apologized to him internally, and would mourn his death, but it was either she or they, and she had unfinished commitments.

Somewhere behind her she could hear the irritating creature known as Jublop tussling with something, and it was becoming clear that this mission would be a mite more time consuming than she originally thought.

xwx

"What… happened here?" Jib reel asked, eyes wide as she stared at a field littered with dead bodies and ruined crop. It appeared to her as if a tornado had passed through, or worse.

"Hm! What else?" a cocky soldier beside her replied with a snicker. "An undead and a demon consort stormed through here—stole our food, killed half our farmers. We'll send for more immediately, of course, but the way things are looking now…" he laughed again.

"By the light," Jibreel snarled, narrowing her eyes as she clenched her fists. "Of all the low, filthy…"

"I know, I know," the soldier chuckled, sticking his sword in the ground. "And this is what we're up against—filthy heathens."

"Filthy indeed," Jibreel growled. "It sounds to me as if these wretches could be the same that stole orders from Meven and I," she informed.

The soldier looked at her with some surprise. "That was you, huh?"

"Yeah," Jibreel answered pridelessly.

"Lucky you're still alive—I hear those two got at least thirty of ours dead."

"Not quite, it was in town and a guard interfered," Jibreel informed heartlessly. "But that won't be the case next time—if they come back, I will personally kill them both." After a brief interrogation, of course. She was hard-set on finding the bottom of this _Vaschel _mystery.

xwx

Shifting the heavy bag around on her shoulder, Lisys was openly thankful that the pumpkins were still tiny. Still, how they'd each managed to fit so many in their packs was a mystery she'd been pondering hard up until Negate began to scold her.

"You really have to be more careful," he growled at her. "By the Sunwell, you're just as bad as Negatory."

"I'm sorry…" she apologized, glancing behind her to see that the fields were long out of view. "Who's Negatory?"

"My sister," he answered through gritted teeth.

Lisys smiled, shifting her bag to her other shoulder. "Negate and Negatory! How cute," she cooed, picturing Negate albeit female in her mind. "Is she a warlock, too?"

"No," Negate rolled his eyes. "Never met an elf less talented with magic than my sister. She's a rogue, like you."

"Oh! Really?" Lisys asked, trying not to sound excited. "What's she like? Is she any good?"

"She's a pain in my ass, no, and you're off-topic," Negate growled at her, still too irritated with Lisys for her failures in the field to discuss much else. "You need to be more careful! I won't try to understand this ridiculous fear of humans you have, but I won't allow you to let yourself die by it, either," he snapped.

"I wasn't really scared…" Lisys offered apologetically, hanging her head. "I was just surprised…I 'd known both of them…"

Negate's expression softened a fraction as he turned to Lisys quietly, remembering a gory scene from a mere two years ago where a good friend of his stared in repressed horrific agony while Vaschel decapitated a human raider on Farstrider's square before she could tell him to stop. Almost guilty for scolding her, he shifted his face away. "Perhaps, in the future, we should avoid the Scarlet Crusade."

Lisys shook her head. "No, please. Don't go easy on me, I'm weak for a Forsaken as it is," she answered, trying to sound cheerful. "It did not bother me so deeply… hey, are you this way with your sister, too?"

"What way?" Negate asked, now grateful for a shift in subject.

"Always scolding?" she asked, beaming. "Or is she really spoiled? I'll be it's both, isn't it?" she teased.

"Something like that," Negate answered, rolling his eyes. He opened his mouth to go into more detail but stopped suddenly as the most horrific sight since the Third War wandered into his field of vision. "Ugh! What is that!?" he gasped, pointing at the most hideous creature he'd ever laid eyes upon, far, far worse than the woman he traveled with now.

"Hmm…" Lisys followed his finger toward an abomination: large, blob-like flesh golems. "I believe it's Gordo… Oliver always makes fun of him with the traveling deathgaurds who stop by every now and again," she answered plainly. "I think the poor thing's trying to get our attention."

Negate stared between Lisys and the abomination, horrorstruck. The beast was as wide as a house and at least as tall, composed from twenty or more human bodies. Three arms of varying sizes sprouted from its bloated body: two carrying bloody hooks and the other a long, cruel-looking chain.

What Negate suspected were once the ribs of a horse, or some similarly large creature, served as the frame for its giant, rounded trunk, and were clearly visible as they protruded from the skin in its chest. In the interest of saving _materials, _a gaping hole was left in the beast's stomach, allowing a certain blood elf the pleasant view of its organs at work. And finally, most disgusting of all, out of the aforementioned hole spilled bile like Negate never would have believed one creature, no matter how hulking, could produce.

The smell, even at a distance, was sickening, and a green-brown cloud of tainted air followed it wherever it roamed, which was, woefully, straight toward he and Lisys.

"You! You!" shouted the abomination as it strode closer. "You help me!"

Lisys, thinking Gordo actually quite charming, giggled lightly as the beast approached. "What is it, hm?"

Gordo stopped before them, surveying the pair with a giant, colorblind eye.

Negate leaned forward and placed his hands on his knees for balance, wheezing slightly as if the smell would cause him to lose consciousness any second.

"Oh!" Lisys gasped, as if she'd forgotten about him for a moment, but now remembered suddenly. Quickly, she seized Negate by the shoulders, pushing him back and away from the pile of flesh. "Please don't stand so close," she begged, ignoring Gordo as he called angrily after them. "You could get sick—I will talk to him, okay?"

Negate simply nodded, trying to keep himself from gagging, as the Forsakenness helped him sit at the base of a tree, a good distance away from the monster. She gave him a quick pat on the head, then hurried back to Gordo lest she set off his infamous abomination temper.

"I'm here, I'm here," Lisys told the flesh golem soothingly, standing before him completely unafraid.

"Where went elf?" Gordo demanded, stomping his foot. He could guess, with what limited intelligence he possessed, that his task was quicker completed, and therefore more pleasing to his master, by two as opposed to one.

"Elf… elf is resting," Lisys answered, speaking to it as if it were a child. "Tell me what you want, and we will help you."

Appearing soothed, Gordo made his demands in very broken Gutterspeak, "Master want weeds. Us gots big hands and not good at picking. You help us and we not hurt you. Us need gloom weed. Many weeds around here and near road. When you have gloom weed you take to Master Holland in Brill graveyard."

Lisys couldn't keep herself from laughing good-naturedly. She was beginning to understand why the deathgaurds laughed at him, even if she herself thought he was kind of cute. "Okay, we'll get the gloom weed for your master—don't worry," and with a wave she returned to Negate.

Negate sat near the very tree she'd left him, coughing furiously. No matter how he tried, he was certain he would never clear the stench of that behemoth from his lungs.

"I'm really sorry about that…" Lisys extended her arms to help him up.

Negate grabbed onto her wrists, wincing as the biting cold weaved into him through her fingers, though it was not so painful that he let go. Using her in part, he pulled himself up to his feet. "Filthy things…" he growled.

Lisys nodded her head in agreement. "I will handle things like that from now on—deal?" she requested, suppressing excitement that arose from the idea of making herself useful. As a weak, directionally challenged ugly girl, she was afraid she was almost a burden to him.

"Fair," Negate agreed, lacking even the remotest desire to speak with the creatures himself anyway. Though he released her wrists immediately upon standing, he gave a hard shiver: the combination of her freezing hands and his torn clothing was becoming an issue the lower the sun sank into the sky.

Noticing his chill, Lisys felt a stab of guilt for taking advantage with her own selfish desire to sap his heat as opposed to letting him stand on his own, and she turned her head forward shamefully. "Just up ahead is Cold Hearth Manor—if I recall correctly, a clothier resides within. She can fix your robe."

"And while she is at it, I will write a letter for my sister… again," Negate advised, walking with Lisys along the path once more. The ground beneath them vibrated as several yards west of the path, Gordo jumped around in search of flora.

"I don't know how you'll see," Lisys mumbled, staring at the sky. "Look, it's almost dark…"

"The tailor has to have a damn candle," Negate countered, looking with her. "Lisys, would it pain you very much if we went flower picking tomorrow? I don't know about you, but…"

"I'm about to fall over," Lisys agreed with a dramatic sigh. "We can deal with the apothecaries tomorrow, too. Let's just get your robes fixed and find the inn. I can scarcely stomach the idea of more work right now."

"Read my mind," Negate assented. Together they approached the broken-down farmhouse on Cold Hearth Manor, dragging their feet.

*END: CHAPTER 5*

-BEGIN LETTER: NEGATE TO NEGATORY-

Dear Negatory,

Excuse my penmanship; as I write, I am dreadfully sleepy and in unfavorable lighting, but allow me to make myself clear: I am alive and quite well.

I did not simply abandon you, either, and I do not, repeat, _do not _want you to worry about me. It's actually sort of a funny story. In a nutshell, a raid essentially kidnapped me and abandoned me at the Undercity where I met a wicked siren who tricked me into losing my way in Tirisfal Glades. As I write you now, I am just outside the town of Brill. I would have written you sooner, but previously I was forced to stay in the smaller town known as Deathknell, where, unfortunately, there is no mailing system.

I am working my way back to the Undercity and I expect to be home within the next seventy two hours, though I am working as hard and as fast as I possibly can. I met a pitifully ugly Forsaken girl who needed assistance leaving the town herself—this should quicken my progress.

Please relay this message to Phasilica, for I am far too exhausted to write separate letters, but tell Vaschel that I am off getting action.

Love,

Negate.

PS: On second thought, ask Phasilica to tell Vaschel I am getting action—you stay far away from men, especially Vaschel, until I return.

-END LETTER-


	7. Chapter 6

*BEGIN: CHAPTER 6*

//SET LOCATION: SILVERMOON CITY

_So dark were his surroundings that Vaschel wasn't exactly sure where he was. No gentle breeze told him he was outside, but the ground beneath his feet was too uneven for man-built flooring. All was still, quiet, and so dark he wasn't always certain that his eyes were open._

_Suddenly, a flash of white caught his attention from the very corner of his eye, and with lighting-fast reflexes he turned to face a pretty blonde ranger, almost exactly as he remembered her: blue eyes and all, though mostly obscured in the darkness. Ultra blonde hair, which had given away her position, was extremely lengthy, down to her waist even while styled up, and so distinctive that he knew who he was looking at simply by the blue and green light cast by their own glowing eyes._

"_Rachel?" he asked, taking a step forward._

_The tip of a sharp arrow poked his cheek._

"_Don't move," she ordered in a cold voice that was so far from her normal personality._

"Vaschel! Vaschel!" Negatory half-screamed as she dashed through the door of Phasilica's tiny loft. She was so quiet on her way out, as not to wake him, but in light of the letter in her hand, all pleasantries were thrown right out the window.

"What…" Vaschel moaned, not moving from his position on the couch. The sun was scarcely up, and he'd blearily crashed on the furniture only a few short moments ago.

Dashing through the kitchen and into the living area beyond, she bound over the coffee table and directly onto the couch, or rather onto Vaschel on the couch, straddling his stomach. "Letter!" she squealed, pushing an envelope into his face so closely that he could not read whom it was addressed. "Letter! Letter! It's from Negate! Up! Up! Up!" she demanded, tugging the man's white-blonde hair and ears.

"I'm up, I'm up…" Vaschel grunted, shaking the dream out of his head. He'd had it every other day since the Third War—guilt induced, theorized his shrink. Placing his hands on the expensive upholstery below him, he pushed himself partially upright

With a squeal Negatory rolled easily off of him. Landing with a quiet thud on the floor beside the couch, she quickly sat up again, unhurt. "Are you ready!? Oh, wait—Phasilica!" Negatory gasped, covering her mouth daintily. "Wait right here!" she ordered, springing up and actually leaping over the couch before dashing down a short hallway to bang her tiny fists on Phasilica's bedroom door.

Vaschel watched Negatory go, shaking his head. "I said he was fine…" he mumbled, laying back once more and closing his eyes. His rest was short-lived, however, as once again the impish Negatory bounded into the living room, dragging behind her a tall, regal, _sleepy _undead woman.

"I'm up, I'm up…" Phasilica yawned as she floated gracefully along behind the elfish rogue. She sat daintily down upon the coffee table across from Vaschel, stretching lightly. "What is it, Tory?"

"Letterrr!" Negatory repeated, squeezing herself into the small space between the coffee table and couch, and thusly between Vaschel and Phasilica. "It's from Negate!"

"Oh?" Phasilica asked, lifting a fine eyebrow. "Well go on, open it."

"I already know what it says," Vaschel smirked smugly. "He got tired of his bratty sister and ran away."

"That isn't what it says!" Negatory hissed as she tore into the envelope like an angry puppy, almost tearing the actual letter itself. "It says! _Dear Negatory, excuse my penmanship as I write this_—"

"_Penmanship," _Vaschel scoffed, rolling his eyes."Leave it to a dress-wearing spell-caster to use a word like 'penmanship'."

"We wear robes, and be quiet," Phasilica hissed. "Please, Negatory, continue."

"Thank you, Phasilica," Negatory cooed, then stuck her tongue out at Vaschel, before resuming. She read the entire letter so quickly that Phasilica had to listen extremely carefully , until the tiny girl reached the bottom, where she stopped abruptly with a quiet, "Oh."

"Oh?" Phasilica asked, narrowing her eyes with suspicious worry.

Negatory looked up at Vaschel, dozing on the couch. "I wasn't supposed to read this to you—I was supposed to tell you that Negate is out getting action," she squeaked sheepishly. "Also, I'm supposed to stay away from you."

"What?" Vaschel asked, as he was half-sleeping through the entire oredeal. Sitting up once more, he snatched the letter from her, reading it over quickly, before tossing it aside and laughing. "He's stuck in Brill with some hideous Forsaken girl!" he roared, thinking it quite rich. "He must be what Endian was talking about! Oh, how precious…" he stopped laughing abruptly, however, as the letter floated down to rest upon the coffee table, and the very last line caught his eye.

"What's this P.S. nonsense!? I'm trustworthy!" he growled.

Negatory and Phasilica caught one another's gaze and erupted in an explosion of giggles.

"This isn't funny!" growled the paladin, stomping his right foot heavily on the floor. "See if I ever get trashed with that ungrateful prick again! Maybe now I _will _take advantage of his sister."

"Good luck," Negatory giggled, tossing her pony tail around. "I'm a tough catch."

"No woman can resist me, not even you," Vaschel responded with a smirk, tapping Negatory's nose with a large finger.

Negatory wiggled her nose, turning her head to watch as Phasilica stood, moving to her bedroom. "Where are you going?" squeaked the small elf, head tilted.

"To escape Vaschel's machismo," Phasilica answered sternly as she glided down the short hall.

"Hmmm…" Negatory whimpered, crossing her legs as she looked up at Vaschel with disappointment. "You scared her away."

"She's probably just returning Negate's letter," Vaschel countered, rolling his eyes. "Anyway, the undead should be scared of me!"

"Speaking of…" Negatory laid her face down on Vaschel's knee, looking at him with the appealing eyes of complete innocence. "Thank you for not telling her about yesterday."

"Hah!" Vaschel tossed his hair back. "You knew I wasn't going to say anything the whole damn time, you brat," he half-growled, albeit playfully.

"I'm not a brat," she pouted, climbing to her feet.

Like the day before she wore a half-shirt, this time green in color, with a halter strap round the back of her neck and disconnected sleeves, which covered only a small portion of her upper arms. Where she got these bare-midriff ensembles was a mystery; Phasilica certainly wouldn't sew anything that didn't cover a woman wholly, as she'd find anything less _distatsteful. _The bottoms, on the other hand, were certainly tailored by the Forsakenness: capris stopping at mid-calf, and were perfectly modest.

The whole get up was summery and cute—cute enough that Vaschel would occasionally need force his eyes _elsewhere. _

She wrapped her small hands around his thick arm, tugging. "Come on, we should go have some fun! Nate said he'll be back in a few days, you know? This is cause to celebrate!" she squealed, pulling as hard as she could.

Vaschel stood, grabbing her wrist as he did, narrowly saving her from falling over backwards. "All right, where do you want to go?" he asked with a yawn. Though he was still tired, sleep seemed almost impossible now. Besides, Negatory's energy was so infectious.

"Mmm…" she bounced from foot to foot hyperly as she thought, then all at once stopped as her face produced a broad smile. "Take me to pet the hawkstriders!"

"What?" Vaschel asked, lifting a high blonde eyebrow at her. Of all the ways to celebrate the return of an MIA comrade, he'd never thought of _this. _"Why?"

"They are so cute!" Negatory answered, bouncing around excitedly. "Please!? Please!? Please!? Just for a little while? Then I _promise _I'll let you return to boozing and picking up women or whatever it is you do all day!" she whimpered, pulling his hand to her cheek as to increase the efficiency of her begging.

Vaschel rubbed his temples with his free hand. "Negate, hurry up…" he muttered to himself.

"Please!" Negatory repeated, jumping up and down. Her pony tail swished side to side as she pounded the floor with her tiny feet, trying to look at Vaschel at eye-level, but always falling to gravity before she could quite make it.

"All right, all right," Vaschel answered, and before he could even sigh, the tiny ball of energy turned and bounded for the door, forcing Vaschel to half-run to keep up with her. He barely had time on the way out to step into his boots and grab his axe.

"Phasilica I'm leeeaving!" Negatory shouted over her shoulder, just before slamming the door shut behind her.

Phasilica could hear her clearly from her bedroom and moved to the great window above her desk, watching as the little elf dragged Vaschel down through the shop below and out into the street, never once pausing or even slowing.

The weary undead could not prevent a slow half-smile at Negatory's elation as she wondered how the girl managed to remain so chipper, but there were more pressing mysteries. Dropping her smile for her general poker-face, she shifted her attention back inwards, searching every corner of her mind for the answer to a simple question.

"Negate…" she whispered quietly to herself, placing her bony fingers on the cold glass. "Why not just ask Vaschel or I to come for you? Perhaps you've been held back for too long?" she mused aloud, before reseating herself in her chair.

She would not approach the subject in this letter, but would remember to ask upon his return.

//SET LOCATION: BRILL

Sitting up with a deep yawn, Negate wasn't sure he'd ever felt better in his entire life. It was incredible how much difference a full night's rest could make for the weary: only learning to siphon magic from demons after months in agony was even comparable.

Stretching, he surveyed his surroundings, remembering nothing beyond forcing a citizen and enchanting trainer from the room just before dropping into bed.

The room was spacious and much warmer than any Forsaken dwelling he'd seen thus far—a distant cry from the tiny, chilly inn back in Deathknell; if it weren't for spider webs crowded in corners and crevices of the wooden walls, Negate almost would have believed the inn was kept by living humans.

In front of him was the great door, now closed of course, with a decorative deer's head placed trophy style above. To the door's left was a small table housing a candle and some books, to the door's right was a bureau and on the connecting wall another right next to it, sandwiched between two shelves. On the wall to his left was a scenic painting of cliffs most likely in the Thunderbluff area, and another bed separated from his by a nightstand housing more candles and more books.

On this other bed, submerged up to her neck in down comforter, slept Lisys, matted hair partially obscuring her empty eyes.

Climbing out of bed quietly, he crossed the short distance between himself and the Forsakenness. Bending, he picked a few strands of her hair between his thumb and forefinger, moving the course locks from her face temporarily, before releasing them again.

"Hm," he smirked, straightening his back. "Even uglier when she sleeps…" he muttered, climbing over his own bed to the nearest shelf, from which he took his robes. Still careful not to make excess noise, he pulled the bright red, black, and gold garment over the plain brown clothes he wore underneath, all recently mended by a clothier just out of town.

Carrying his boots out into the hallway, he closed the door behind him, deciding to let the pitiful dead girl sleep a little longer while he checked his mail.

//SET LOCATION: SILVERMOON CITY

"Well, _I _think it's very romantic," Negatory pouted, arms crossed as she wandered with Vaschel along the Walk of the Elders, lazily making their way to Phasilica's loft once more.

"What? How could that possibly be romantic!?" Vaschel demanded, tossing his arms in exasperation. "Didn't you read the damn letter? He clearly said 'ugly dead girl'."

"None of that matters when it comes to true love!" Negatory countered, eyes shining with idealistic vigor as she bounced along beside the hulking paladin.

"Oh, by the light!" Vaschel rubbed his forehead. "Only you would come up with something stupid like that."

"It's not stupid," she insisted, face falling. "It's beautiful. Two strangers meet in a dreary wood and must depend on one another if they ever hope to survive!" she fantasized aloud, clasping her hands together in front of her for effect.

"I highly doubt it's as dramatic as you're making it sound," the holy warrior snorted, tossing his hair back.

"Well I am going to picture it however I want," she pouted, then instantly perked up again. "Ooooh I hope he brings her home!"

"Ugh, two Phasilica's…" Vaschel grunted.

"I don't think that all Fors—It's Dawnn!" Negatory gasped, interrupting herself midsentence.

"What? Where?" Vaschel asked with teeth bared, turning his head this way and that. Open surprise registered on his face as he spotted the very man in front of him, several yards away. Last Vaschel had heard, the boy was away.

"Dawnn!" Negatory squealed, dashing across pink-purple stones to the white steps of the Wayfarer's Rest Inn, where the previous day she'd gotten that bad idea to search for her brother outside the city.

On the aforementioned steps stood a paladin of moderate strength, but fairly limited experience. Somewhere between normal and Vaschel-like height and broader than average build, he might appear just as intimidating as Vaschel himself if it weren't for the softness of his facial features and unnaturally pale hues that comprised his coloring: lily white skin and platinum hair so thick that in some places it protruded from his pony tail in strange, but not unpleasant, angles. Even the green glow of his eyes seemed dim.

Most women, and certainly Negatory, would describe Dawnn as unnaturally attractive for a male with the exception of one unfortunate flaw: the top forth or so of his right ear was missing, torn away years ago.

The man almost didn't notice the tiny projectile that was Negatory rocketing toward him until it was too late. As she made contact, throwing her arms around his waist, he actually stumbled back a step or two as she squealed, "Dawnn!" again, and then again.

"Negatory!" he answered, regaining his balance. Dawnn's voice, generally a note or two higher than Vaschel's, sounded over-all kinder than what she was used to, and it never failed to surprise her.

"Dawnn!" she repeated, all at once jumping away from him again. "Guess what! My brother sent me a letter!" she cheeped, throwing her arms up in elation.

"That's wonderful!" Dawnn exclaimed, tossing his arms up as well, mirroring her excitement. "But why didn't he just go see you!?"

"Oh, you hadn't heard," Negatory spoke much quieter, tilting her head to the side. "Sorry, this all must be very confusing for you."

"What must be?" Dawnn asked, calming similarly.

"Negate went missing last night," Vaschel answered, doing his best to sound civil, but ultimately allowing anedge of hostility to creep into his voice. "We looked for him all damn day, turns out he's in Tirisfal Glades."

"Oh," Dawnn answered, likewise mock-politely, as if he'd just noticed Vaschel's presence. Then he continued, asking kinder, "What on Azeroth is he doing _there_?"

Knowing it was best to ignore the venom between the two, as it seemed to come and go naturally all on its own, Negatory simply smiled. "Believe it or not, he got kidnapped by a raid! I guess all these guys were going to push around Darnassus, and they thought Negate would help," she giggled.

Dawnn snickered, shaking his head. "Negate? … Yeah, that is pretty funny."

"Don't laugh," Vaschel scoffed. "He'd still probably do better than you would."

"Knock it off," Negatory ordered, swatting Vaschel's shoulder as she broke her own resolve. "Come on, Dawnn, walk with us for a little bit! I've got to catch you up," she whimpered, tugging his wrist. "I never see you anymore!"

"Yes, please come with us!" Vaschel pleaded, raising his voice to an obnoxious falsetto. "Oh how I have missed you so!"

Negatory glared at him, and opened her mouth to scold, but Dawnn interrupted.

"I've missed you too," he answered, patting Vaschel's arm, then Negatory's head. "Where are we going?"

"Just around…" Negatory answered, skipping down the steps, between the two. "Earlier I was petting hawkstriders, but I guess now I feel like shopping," she informed, ignoring the disappointed groans that came from both men nearly simultaneously. "So, it's back through the inn I guess!" she announced, taking either blood knight firmly by the wrist, lest they try to escape, as she trod back up the stairs and into Wayfarer's only to exit on the other side, emerging in the deserted bazaar.

While Dawnn did his best to assume the appearance of politeness, Vaschel openly hunted for an escape route.

"Hmm, now let's see… Vaschel, what's happened since we last got to speak with Dawnn?" Negatory asked, tapping her chin thoughtfully. "Great sun, it seems like it's been forever!"

"Uhh…" Vaschel continued to turn his head this way and that. "Well, Negate disappeared," he answered, only half listening.

"We already covered that!" Negatory whined, pausing in the middle of the light purple stonework of the empty street to frown at him, hands on her hips. "Are you listening to me?"

Dawnn stopped as well, likewise glaring at Vaschel. Shopping wasn't his favorite thing in the world, either, but if he had to endure it, then so should Vaschel.

The reluctant paladin nodded lightly to Negatory before starting, staring just beyond the other two. "By the light! Look, Dawnn, your mother is flirting with Fae Adams!"

"Cute," Dawnn answered testily, crossing his arms impatiently.

"That wasn't very funny, Vaschel," Negatory growled.

With an impatient eye-roll, Vaschel seized either mistrusting elf by the pony tail and forcibly turned them around, directing their heads as if by a handle.

Now, directly within their lines of sight, Daynha was chatting up a redheaded female near a pile of boxes just outside the auction house.

"Huh, she really is…" Dawn muttered with a shrug, sounding nonchalant at first, before widening his eyes. "Wait a minute—I slept with Fae Adams! Ugh. Gross," he grumbled, rubbing his forehead, although he really wasn't so bothered. Daynha was so young when Dawnn was born, resulting in a more level relationship as opposed to the traditional authortive-figure/child existence found within _normal _families.

"Dawnn!" Negatory whimpered, turning to stare at him disappointedly.

"Well who hasn't?" Vaschel snorted.

"Vaschel!" Negatory whimpered once more, turning to stare at _him _doubly disappointed.

"Don't feel bad, though," Vaschel snickered, ignoring Negatory's whimpers in favor of patting Dawnn's shoulder. "Wouldn't surprise me if Fae slept with _my _mother; that girl gets around!"

"And I'll bet," Dawnn scoffed, "That you would hit it even if you knew for sure."

"By the light you bet I would," Vaschel scoffed, puffing his chest out. "In fact, this scene here… is like a dream come true, and I'm going to hit them both. Watch Negatory for me!" Vaschel ordered, patting Dawnn's head condescendingly before hurrying toward the two women without another word.

Dawnn simply stared after the knight, mouth slightly agape, vein pulsing in his forehead, as if he couldn't even process the affront that had been dealt.

Negatory waved at Vaschel as he dashed away, then turned to giggle at Dawnn's expression. "Don't look after him like that! You and I both know that he'll never get anywhere with Daynha—she really seems to be more my or Fae's type these days," Tory smiled, bouncing from foot to foot.

"That may be so," Dawnn retorted, scarcely able to calm himself. "But there's principal in the matter!"

"Let it go," Negatory cooed, attempting to physically wave the problem away. "Anyhow, he said you have to watch me."

"Yeah, I guess so," the blonde sighed, trying to shake the thought away. "Got anything in mind?"

"Actually… I do…" Negatory answered impishly, taking Dawnn's wrist in her hand, backing away from the scene where Vaschel was _conversing _with Daynha and Fae.

"What is it?" Dawnn asked, almost suspiciously, as he followed her willingly. Even he, more friendly than fatherly to her, had noticed her incredible inclination toward trouble, and already the young knight suspected he was about to be consumed by a scheme.

"I want to get trashed!" she answered a little too loudly, before covering her mouth with an excited squeal. "Watch me, okay!?"

Dawnn stopped there, firmly planting his heels in stone and refusing to move any farther in any direction. At first he simply stared at her as if unsure of what she meant, but as comprehension flashed over his face, he began to laugh. Then , all at once, he stopped abruptly and all humor left his expression. "_No." _

"Ooooh!" Negatory whimpered, stamping her tiny feet. Judging by her mild reaction, it was clear she had expected this answer… at least, at first. "Pleeeease!"

"No," Dawnn repeated.

"But--! But--! Vaschel and my brother are always running around—"

"No."

"—getting sooo drunk, I want to—"

"No."

"—know what all the fuss is about!" Negatory whimpered pathetically. "I'm just curious!"

"Hah!" Dawnn turned his back on her, starting for the white road. "Nice try, but I distinctly remember having this conversation with you once before. You already know what it's like."

"Well sure, but I don't _remember _it!" Negatory whined, jogging to catch up with his far lengthier strides.

"And that's exactly what it's like," Dawnn scoffed. "Waking with mysterious bruises and no knowledge of the night before."

"Well, this time I'll take it slower! It's not like I'm not old enough!" Negatory reminded.

"No," Dawnn repeated flatly.

"What's the problem?" she whimpered, following him through the big gold gate that marked the end of the bazaar area.

"The problem?" he laughed cynically, shaking his head. "There's two of them: I already have trouble conversing civilly with Vaschel, and I really, really do _not _want bad blood with your brother."

"_Dawnn!" _she pleaded, skipping around in front of him.

"Do you even _know _what death by warlockery is like!?" Dawnn asked, shaking his head vigorously. "They're essentially subsets of magi that abandoned efficiency in favor of prolonged suffering—_suffering!"_

"Fine," Negatory sighed, almost sadly. "I guess I'll just do it myself, and let whatever happens… happen," she shrugged. Crossing her arms, she stopped.

Dawnn stopped, too, turning his head slightly to look directly into her eyes. "…You're going to get me killed…" he accused, albeit jovially.

xwx

"They mistook him for—hah!" Daynha giggled, tapping her flask against Vaschel's, then Fae's, in the form of a crude toast.

At present, the three acquaintances busied themselves by drinking and conversing lightly just outside the auction house, resting on or, in Vaschel's case, against a number of wooden supply boxes. Negate's disappearance made for an interesting topic of discussion.

"Now, Negate," began Fae, after a quick swig. "He's the warlock with the _very_ long hair, right?"

Fae Adams was, as previously suggested, a girl with a reputation and a body to fit: curvaceous but tiny-waisted with vivacious red hair that rivaled even Daynha's.

"Yes," Vaschel answered, tossing the empty canister to the side as he finished it. "You've met?"

"I think so," she answered, then added, with a light smirk, "but not how you're thinking."

"Sure," Vaschel and Daynha returned sarcastically.

Fae opened her pretty mouth to retort, but shut it prematurely as a city guardian behind her shouted her name. "Well, it's been lovely, but if you'll excuse me…"

"Of course," Daynha waved. "It was nice chatting with you."

"Likewise, I do _so_ love blood knights," Fae returned sensually before politely bowing away.

"Hu," Vaschel scoffed, turning to Daynha as soon as Fae was out of earshot. "I'd never known her to be so talkative."

"That's because," Daynha produced another pint from her bag, passing it to Vaschel, "there are much better uses for those lips that always take priority—am I right?"

Vaschel lifted his eyebrows and opened his mouth slightly, doing his best to appear appalled. "Daynha—you pervert!"

"Oh shut up!" Daynha contested, though unable to help a giggle. "I know you've been there—she told me. We actually had quite the intense conversation before you got here," she informed him pointedly.

"Intense?" Vaschel asked, turning to fully face the much smaller holy warrior. "Tell me more," he requested, rubbing his goatee as if intrigued.

"Now if you don't stop this, I'm going to have to knock you flat over," She threatened, albeit playfully.

"I like it," Vaschel answered, standing squarely. "Knock away."

"…And then I'll take my pint back," she added, shaking her finger at him scoldingly.

The man submitted, nonverbally agreeing to behave by leaning against the boxes in a nonaggressive pose. "All right, all right. What all did she tell you?"

"She told me that you two get dizzy together, and that she likes to play the innocent damsel in distress," Daynha laughed, rolling her eyes. "And that you get to play the holy knight come to rescue her and roughly strip her virginity."

"Ohh!" Vaschel slapped the box open-handed with excitement. "That's my favorite game!"

"And she told me that once, when you were stumbling around, a 'tall, undead priestess helped him home'—that's exactly what she said," Daynha added, her voice darkening considerably. It was at this point that Vaschel noticed, a might too late, that the woman's hand was balled into a fist so tight that her knuckles had long since whitened.

Knowing the conversation was about to take a turn for the worst, Vaschel winced openly. "Yeah?"

"Don't 'yeah' me!" Daynha retorted, a bit loudly. "Vaschel, you know they're not trustworthy!" she burst, kicking the wooden box in front of her. Whatever was inside sounded fragile, and at the sound of shattering glass, an auctioneer poked his head outside of the building angrily.

"Is there a problem out here?" he requested snootily.

"No," Vaschel snarled in a tone that sent the auctioneer back inside and prevented further interruption, before returning his attention to Daynha. "By the light, do we have to go _there _again?" he asked with a heavy sigh.

"Apparently, we do," Daynha answered, glaring at him aggressively. "You said she'd be gone a long time ago!"

"Look, I don't always like her either," Vaschel reminded pointedly, but gently all the same, "but she gets along with Negate famously—you know, they have that _spell-casting-rich-family-background_ thing in common. Besides—she's different than the rest of them. If she really had any malice, she could have ditched my body in the plaguelands, light knows she had every opportunity."

"You can take care of yourself well enough," Daynha assented genially, but then pushed the subject further. "But what about Negatory?"

"_Stop_," Vaschel grunted, already weary of this conversation.

"Don't act like the thought's never crossed your mind," the small knight hissed. "She's cute, young, impressionable."

"Would it matter if it _had _crossed my mind?" Vaschel contested. "She isn't _my _sister."

Daynha took a step toward him. "She _was. _If you said something, Negate would listen to you."

"There's nothing to say!" Vaschel insisted. "Listen, Daynha, I agree with you: over-all, the Forsaken are a shady bunch. If our _glorious _regent lord is even a fraction smarter than our prince was, he'll drop them off at the next exit. But Phasilica has never given me any problems, and on a personal basis, I have no issues with her!"

"That bitch almost took my arm!" Daynha shouted, raising her voice at him for the first time since they'd had the exact same conversation months ago. "Doesn't that _mean anything to you!?" _she asked quieter, though emotion ran high and clear in her voice.

"It means everything to me!" Vaschel returned twice as loudly, anger rising in his chest for the first time. "But by the light, Daynha, I swear to you—it was _not_ her."

"And how do you know that?" she demanded, leaning forward aggressively. "Don't tell me you think she'd admit to it if it was!" she ordered, stepping so close to him that only the height difference accounted for any distance separating her small, pale face from his.

"I do," Vaschel answered clearly, narrowing his eyes down at the smaller warrior. "It was _not _Phasilica."

"Please," she begged, face looking more pained now than angry, "_please_ don't be so naïve."

"Daynha," he breathed, mirroring her hurt, "Look, I—" he shifted his gaze this way and that, as if checking for eavesdroppers.

"Vaschel," she muttered unhappily, starting to back away, but he grabbed her arm.

"I've kept by you, haven't I?" he asked, returning his gaze to her very seriously. "Haven't I? Even knowing that we'd never work out, even knowing that, I _still—"_

"Vaschel!" she interrupted, choking on his name. Shutting her eyes tightly, she turned her gaze away.

Inhaling deeply, he let the previous sentence fall, but continued on a different thought. "It wasn't her that you fought," he insisted, his fingers trailing down from her shoulder and unto her forearm. Pushing her sleeve up slightly, he absently fingered a deep, ugly scar.

"As long as you honestly believe that," she ripped her arm out of his hand, turning away, "I guess I can forgive you for letting her stay here."

Vaschel exhaled, but accepted the impasse with a nod. "All right, whatever, let's just… talk about something else."

"Fine," she assented, trying to return her gaze to his face cheerily. "I have a new sword that I wanted to show you, anyway. Useless, of course, but kind of pretty."

Fighting down heaps of the unsaid, he nodded quietly and followed her away.

xwx

"What's bourbon, Mr. Suntouched?" Negatory asked, bouncing around the ground floor of the Silvermoon City Inn. She'd already _had a few _and it was beginning to show: her face took a ruddy hue and her voice a note higher than natural.

"I don't think you'd like it much," laughed the red headed wine vendor, shaking his head.

"You won't, not at all," Dawnn added firmly, grabbing Negatory's tiny arm in his thick hand.

"Why not?" She squealed, tugging in the opposite direction.

"Because it's way too strong," Dawnn answered with a sigh. "Besides, it's barely noon! You don' t want to turn into Vaschel, do you?"

"But—the stronger it is the faster I get drunk! Isn't that how it works?" Negatory asked innocently, finally pulling her arm free and stumbling.

Dawnn reached out quickly to catch her before she could fall, latching both arms around her and ultimately pulling her over his shoulder, sack-of-potatoes style. "You've had enough."

"But I want some of that bourbon stuff!" Negatory protested, struggling. "Dawnn, don't be mean! You promised me!" she whimpered.

"No," Dawnn repeated, starting up the spiraling incline to the upper level. "I'm cutting you off."

"But I'm not drunk yet!" she whimpered, squirming. "…Am I?"

Dawnn snorted. "Drunk enough—you don't need any bourbon, that's for damn sure."

"Okay, okay, enough is enough, I get it," Negatory answered, pouting quietly as Dawnn dumped her on a large, rounded bed surrounded by other, smaller beds.

"Really?" the male asked her, falling down on the plush surface beside her.

"Yeah, but on one condition," she answered devilishly, scooting toward him almost sloppily to rest her head on his shoulder. "You have to tell me what happened to your ear."

Involuntarily Dawnn's unoccupied arm reached up and he fingered the missing tip of his right ear.

"Did you lose it in the heat of the Third War?" she asked, squirming around with excitement.

"No, it was much, much less glamorous," he answered, looking down at her dark hair as she leaned against him.

"Tell me!" Negatory encouraged with a soft whimper.

"Do we really have to talk about _that?" _Dawnn asked, heaving a sigh. "I thought we're supposed to be celebrating."

"Well, I guess if you're going to be like that…" Negatory mumbled quietly, and then, before the meaning of the threat even registered in his mind, the small girl sprung to her feet and dashed through the billowy curtains of the doorway, down the hallway. Grabbing the railing to forcibly turn herself, compensating for her sluggish reaction time, she spun sprinted down the spiraling ramp.

"Negatory!" Dawnn growled, running after. Skipping the middleman, he jumped the rail immediately in front of the bed, landing in a crouch just behind the small girl just a fraction of a second too late.

The dark-headed little rogue handed the wine vendor the gold, he handed her the small jug of bourbon, and the transaction was completed.

Turning to face Dawnn's angry expression, Negatory merely shrugged, doing her best to appear innocent. "Well, I already bought it."

"You brat!" Dawnn groaned, pulling his own blonde hair in frustration for a moment, before breathing deeply and regaining his composure. "All right, fine—have it your way. You'll hurt in the morning. Just… come sit down before you drink that," he requested, grabbing her wrist once more.

"Back upstairs! Whooo!" Negatory squealed, pumping her free hand, and the small jug, in the air with excitement, before completely ignoring Dawnn's request and opening the bottle on the way up.

By the time Dawnn pulled her back down to sit on the bed, she was almost ready to fall over on her own.

"—Negatory!" Dawnn shouted angrily, rubbing his forehead irately.

"Wow!" the elf squeaked. The ruddy color of her face had deepened significantly and the size of green eyes nearly doubled. "This is… this is strange!"

"You're going to get me killed," snapped the paladin. He snatched the bottle from her hand easily and drank it quickly, purely in the interest of preventing her from finishing it herself.

"I… I'm really dizzy!" she declared several decibels too loud. "There's two of… two of _everything!"_

"That's because you drank too much, too fast, on an empty stomach," Dawnn hissed, setting the bottle down on the ground and sitting beside her. "You're probably going to pass out."

"_This _Is what being very, hic! Eee! Very, very… drunk… is like!?" she asked, turning to face him wildly, nearly throwing herself off balance.

"Yes," he answered, heaving yet another sigh. "Congratulations, you're trashed, and I'm going to the twisting nether when I die."

All at once Negatory's expression darkened, as if an extreme sorrow had suddenly taken possession of every fiber of her being. "I… I don't like it!" she wailed. Almost in a panic she covered her head, burying her face in Dawnn's bicep.

"Calm down, calm down," Dawnn advised, sympathy erasing his earlier discontent, "it's not forever…" he reminded, petting her hair comfortingly with his other hand.

Partially soothed, she uncovered her face and sat upright again with the exception of a light sway. "Dawnn?"

"Yes?" he returned.

"When's you gonna me what happensss to your ear?" she asked, pulling her legs onto the bed, shifting herself around awkwardly until she had positioned herself on all fours, setting her chin atop his shoulder. From there, his ear was close enough to examine without blurring—all she had to do was tilt her eyes up.

Dawnn tilted his head in the opposite direction slightly. "It really isn't a big deal."

"Did it hurt'sha very much?" she asked, the edge of sadness still present in her slur.

"No, no, I… I didn't even feel it. I got smashed like you are now and fell on a knife. I told you—this stuff's no good for you," he answered, gesturing pointedly to the empty bottle on the floor.

All sadness left her expression and the young thief giggled, sluggishly pulling her arms up and around his neck.

"What are you laughing at, drunky?" Dawnn snickered almost affectionately, turning his head to face her. In doing so, their noses met, and though startled by their proximity, he did not turn away.

"I don't get it!" she squealed, holding onto him firmly as she squirmed into his lap, resting her head comfortably on his chest.

"Get what?" Dawnn asked, now genuinely curious, as he carefully slid his arms around the tiny elf.

"Why you's n' Vassschel can't get along," she answered, nuzzling into him affectionately. "He liesh to make me feel bett'r, too."

"I wasn't—" Dawnn protested, but in vein. As soon as he opened his mouth, the mischievous rogue had fallen limp in his arms.

*END: CHAPTER 6*


	8. Chapter 7

*BEGIN CH7: CONNECTIONS*

// SET LOCATION: LORDAREON, 15 YEARS AGO

As the sun set lazily upon the horizon, so too did the life-force previously belonging to Lisys Grind begin to wane. Just the night previous, she'd finally gathered the courage to tell her father, Denton Grind, the happiest news of her entire young existence, and now she was paying for it.

Chunks of ebony hair, literally uprooted from her scalp, stuck instead to crusted blood around her twisted mouth, and likely still to the sweaty palms of her attacker. From her cheek protruded the sharp point of her jaw bone, dislocated by her own thrashing the night before while the man attempted to hold her face still. In the struggle, her nose had also been sliced open, and one eye was all but completely missing.

What little clothing the wretch had left to her during the ravage had torn and lie in tatters strewn all across the half-mile distance between this quiet clearing and her childhood home, leaving her clothed in nothing but gallons of bile and vomit and blood topped off with a light crust of dirt. Beneath these layers of filth were bruises, huge blue-black blotches of swollen skin, and deeper within the sad wreck of human flesh, a broken fragment of rib had impaled her lung and filled it with fluid.

For a moment, all was still. It was near complete twilight, and even the wind in her ears began to die as Lisys's own breath slowed painfully. What limited vision left to her swollen eyes began to fade in the wake of the darkness and her own failing vitality. All was quiet, cold, peaceful.

Then, in the blink of an eye, every shattered muscle in her frail body contracted and her breaths came in ragged, desperate gasps as her body pulled together in a last-ditch struggle to survive. Whimpering brokenly through cracked vocal cords, her pulse pounded so loudly in her head that she did not hear the sound of approaching footsteps.

//SET LOCATION: SILVERMOON CITY, 20 YEARS AGO

Opening her eyes, a pretty blonde ranger by the name of Rachel Dauntlight sat up so quickly that her waist-length ultra-pale hair rippled for effect.

Quiet fear rose inside of her ample, naked chest as she surveyed her unfamiliar surroundings. The room was furnished quite plainly—just a bed, a desk, and a table; probably an inn of some sort. Rachel occupied the aforementioned bed next to a sleeping human man who, though actually younger than she, looked slightly older, with gray strands starting to appear in otherwise dark brown hair.

And with a start, Rachel recalled the events of the night before—heavy drinking leading to the acquisition of the room with this man she'd met through the church. With a quiet, relieved exhale, the ranger slipped out of bed to dress herself hurriedly.

As the bed shifted, the human man woke, sitting up quietly as to wordlessly watch her go, which was exactly what she liked about this man from the moment they were introduced: he didn't say much, didn't expect much, didn't care much.

Turning to face him almost affectionately, Rachel flashed him a winning smile. "Crazy party last night—yeah? Did you like it?" she asked in broken, awkward Common. The language was not very useful to her, and it was fairly complicated, so she never bothered to study it in detail. All she knew was what she picked up from the church and various military adventures with the Alliance. To hold an honest conversation, she needed a translator.

He was silent long enough to make her wonder if he simply intended to ignore the question, which would not have been outside of his nature, but he surprised her after a brief moment with, "How can you do this every night?" in a flat, emotionless tone. He spoke slowly enough for her so that she could understand.

"Practice!" she answered with a giggle, tightening her shoe laces. "But seriously, if you hurt… here?" Rachel placed thin fingers atop her head, unsure of how to phrase her statement, "then just stay down, okay?" she advised with fondness evident in her tone. "Anyway—see you again tomorrow night!" she added with a sly wink just before exiting the room.

Emerging outside the plush inn, Rachel gasped upon the realization that the sun was already high in the sky, at least noon, and she was clear on the other side of town. With a determined expression on her face, the woman broke into a sprint.

The Dauntlight family's situation was unique in that at the age of twenty-five, Rachel Dauntlight learned she had a young half brother who had been abandoned by his mother. Though not entirely sure how to raise a child, she raised five-year-old Vaschel Dauntlight herself rather than allow the orphanage, and incidentally passed along an unfortunate vice.

In the years that followed, Rachel discovered six other illicit siblings—all since female—that she'd likewise adopted. Vaschel, now twenty-five, had stuck around through hell and high water to help her raise their sisters, but neither he nor Rachel ever quite managed to defeat their demons.

And so began their nightly tradition: lock the children in the house and drink away the night. The one catch was that neither had any way of knowing when or if the other had returned home in the morning. Of course, Adel was now old enough to watch the two little girls, but nonetheless, Rachel did not want to leave her sisters locked in the house all day.

As the woman ran, her unnaturally lengthy hair blew in every direction, frequently wrapping itself around her elegant face, slowing her down. With a frustrated sigh, she paused next to an elegant building with high, glossy windows, which she used for their reflection to put her hair up in two tails on either side of her pretty head. Upon finishing her 'do, she realized, with some embarrassment, that several women on the other side of the window were waving at her, giggling.

With a sly smirk, Rachel waved back, recognizing the women as matrons to the very orphanage she'd picked Vaschel from all those years ago—it appeared they'd moved to a bigger building. Although she knew she really aught to get home, as one of the women waved for her to come in, she wasn't sure how she could refuse.

Stepping inside was like a blast from the past for her: excited elfin children rushing this way or that. For the most part, it was rare to find a parentless elfin child—elves don't reproduce often, and bathed in magic as they are, they do not suffer a full range of diseases as do many humans or other races. Still, every once in a while a child would turn up with nowhere to go, and they would end up here where Priestess Ani and Priestess Toni cared for them, funded in part by the kingdom of Quel'Thalas and the Church of the Holy Light.

Matron Toni smiled good-naturedly at Rachel as she entered, holding a small bundle in her arms. "Rachel—it's been a while!"

"Yeah! I haven't seen the new building even," Rachel exclaimed, turning her head this way and that with excitement.

"Well, you helped us build it," Reminded the old Priestess. "I hear that you and Vaschel will be building a school in Lordaeron this summer?"

"It's true, we leave here in the next few months," Rachel answered.

"I hope it will give you some rest. It must be hard for you—those twins and all by yourself…" the priestess paused, glancing this way and that. "Actually, when we gave the twins' custody to you, Ani and I had to pull a few strings, what with you single and all…"

"I know, thank you," Rachel interrupted respectfully. "I know that—"

Toni put a hand up, signaling for her to pause. "No thanks necessary. I won't lie, Rachel, there are rumors, but I know those girls are very happy."

Rachel shifted uncomfortably like a child receiving praise from a doting grandparent when they knew they were not deserving. "Aw, priestess…." Rachel began, but before she could take the statement anywhere the bundle in Toni's arms erupted in an explosion of sobs.

"Ah," Toni rearranged the shroud, revealing the bundle to be a tiny, dark-haired baby. "She's awake," Toni laughed, attempting to rock the baby into silence.

"She's a newborn?" Rachel asked, eyes wide. "She's beautiful…" the ranger mumbled, already mysteriously infatuated with the tiny bundle.

"She really is," Toni agreed, cooing to the small girl. "Negatory Voidbreaker, both parents gone."

Rachel felt a pain in her heart that she'd never felt for anyone but her own family before. Curiously she placed a hand over her chest, as if touching the source could help her understand it. "Poor girl, growing up here…"

"Oh no," Toni shook her head. "Her older brother will be old enough in two years, and he's made it clear that he fully intends to take her in."

"Like us…" Rachel muttered, watching the infant's face contort as she cried. "Still, the first two years of her little life will be wasted…"

"If you'll excuse me, I think it's lunch time," smiled Priestess Toni, unable to quiet the child. "It was lovely talking to you."

"Yeah," Rachel nodded, watching her go. Almost reluctantly, she turned away herself and exited the orphanage.

xwx

"Ugh…" Vaschel grunted, sitting up with a stiff back in the middle of a back alley. For some unknown reason, a twig was caught in his hair, but that was the only clue to the events of a cloudy night he otherwise had no recollection of. Pulling the small branch from his hair, he stiffly began to drag himself to his feet when a giggle from the alley entrance startled him and again he toppled down onto the stone.

"Oh" gasped a young red-headed girl as she hurried to him as quickly as she could with her young son in her arms. "Vaschel?"

"Daynha?" Vaschel muttered, again pulling himself to a stand. "The light are you doing in this alley?"

Seeing that he was okay, she giggled again. "Well, I was walking by and I saw you laying here," she explained, shifting the boy around. She held the child on her hip while he slept soundly, head upon her shoulder. Though young, he seemed large when held by tiny Daynha.

"He's five now, isn't he?" Vaschel asked, clearly interested. "Isn't he getting heavy?" he added, motioning for her to walk beside him, suddenly reminded of his sisters at home.

"Yeah," Daynha nodded, shifting the boy again. "I think that by next year he'll have to sleep at night like a normal kid so he can walk during the day, because mommy is only so tough," she answered, rubbing her nose against little Dawnn's cheek lovingly.

Vaschel watched the pair quietly, noting the many similarities between the two—the ultra pale skin, the way his face was shaped—all hers; the boy's size and near-white hair were the only mysteries.

"I don't usually see you out with him until evening," Vaschel mused aloud.

"That's because you're not usually conscious until then," she teased, but then added, more seriously, "But really, my normal babysitter's mother died last night in childbirth, so he's a little busy."

"Oh," Vaschel answered unsympathetically. "Well, you know Rachel or I will watch him if you need the time off," he offered.

"No… thank you," Daynha answered, forcing a smile as she stopped in front of the Dauntlight house briefly. "Actually, he's trying for custody of his little sister, so he'll need the money—I can actually expect him to return to work soon."

"Right," Vaschel watched the small boy shift his head around his mother's shoulder, then settle again. "But I really mean it, if you ever need anything…"

"Right," the young mother forced another smile, then quickly turned away. "Well, see you later!" she muttered hurriedly before rushing away.

Vaschel watched her go with confused displeasure. Ever since Dawnn was born, Daynha maintained a friendly relationship with Vaschel, but worked hard to keep him, for the most part, out of her son's life, only asking Vaschel for help with the boy if she needed it very desperately. Since it was her boy, of course, it was up to her who he associated with, and Vaschel was understanding if Daynha didn't want Dawnn around drunks like himself. Still, he liked the kid and he felt the rift hard whenever she turned her nose up like that.

"If I help you kill her and sue her family for custody, can _I _have another one?" asked an impish voice behind him.

Vaschel started, turning to face his older sister with an angry scowl. "By the light, Rachel!"

"Did I scare you!?" she asked excitedly, jumping once. "Cool! Anyway, I need to talk to you."

"About what?" Vaschel asked, finally starting for the front door. "Where were you all night?"

"Naaah!" Rachel followed, handing Vaschel her set of keys—one mechanical, the other magical—when Vaschel realized he'd lost his. "C'mon, you know where I was."

"I heard you left with a human," her brother half-snarled, jamming both keys into the lock. "If you've been sleeping with a human, I swear by the light, Rachel, I'll slap you across your whore mouth," he threatened as he pushed open the door.

The entry way to their home was fairly modest, although the house itself was of decent size. From the outside, the home was an oddity when compared with its neighbors as the only house with an actual door. Quel'Thalas was so temperate and high elfin culture was so carefree that breezy, open doorways with translucent, pastel curtains were the norm. The inside, however, was decorated typically, with plush couches and haughty displays of art.

"Touchy! I'm not sleeping with humans. Holy light, Vaschel, what business of yours is my love life anyway? You don't see me comment when you're moping around because Daynha—"

"What did you want to talk about?" Vaschel asked, interrupting her pointedly as they walked into the kitchen together.

Beneath a grand, crystal-lighted chandelier was a large, decorative table where sat fifteen-year-old Adel Dauntlight. Like her siblings, Adel's hair was a distinctive silver in color that she kept in braided pigtails on either side of her narrow face. Eyes usually fell to her mouth, however, due to her almost unnaturally plump, red lips.

"What's going on?" Adel asked in a flat tone, as per her usual nature. Unlike Rachel, who was always warm and loving, Adel was the complete opposite, cold and discontent.

"Rachel wants to talk to me," Vaschel answered with a shrug. "Are the twins up yet?"

"No," Adel returned, leaning forward with interest.

"Will you go check on them for me, please?" Rachel requested.

Adel turned her gaze off of Vaschel and onto Rachel, and in doing so, a dark cloud passed over her face. She stared hatefully as if she would reply with something rude, but then simply nodded and exited the room.

Vaschel watched her go, then turned to Rachel with a sigh. "You really should let me deal with her—I don't know what her problem is with you, but—"

"Nah!" Rachel waved him off, undaunted. "Adel's just pissed off, needs a punching bag and I'm close by. I can take it, I'm tough! And as long as she gets along with you, things balance out, you know?"

"If you say so," he shrugged, thinking that Adel's antics bothered Rachel more than she let on, but ultimately leaving his suspicions unspoken. "_Now, _what did you want to talk about?"

"Oh, right…" a big, wide smile consumed Rachel's face, making her brother a bit nervous. "I want to have another baby!" she burst, almost comically.

"What?" Vaschel asked, staring at Rachel with open confusion.

"I stopped by the orphanage and while I was there, Matron Toni introduced me to the most beautiful baby girl—" Rachel began.

Vaschel interrupted her urgently with, "Don't tell me we've got another illicit sibling!"

"Well, not that I know of. She's actually not related to us at all, but--!"

"Then she's not our problem," Vaschel scoffed.

"And that's technically true," Rachel agreed, but was quick to add, "But when I saw those wide, blue eyes staring at me, I felt the same way I felt when I first saw you in Priestess Ani's—"

Vaschel cut her off with a laugh and a shake of his head. "You're still drunk from last night."

"What's that got to do with anything?" Rachel scoffed.

Vaschel stared at her for a second before turning toward the doorway, heading for the living area.

"Vaschel, c'mon!" Rachel whimpered, hurrying after. "If you saw her—ooh, she's the sweetest little angel!"

"I don't know why I put up with this!" Vaschel grunted, plopping back onto a large couch.

"Pleeease!" Rachel whimpered. "Please, Vaschel? I messed up with you, and all of our sisters suffer for it, and if I could make a difference n this beautiful little girl's life—"

"The light are you even talking about?!" Vaschel growled, rubbing his temples. "Damnit, now I feel hung-over…"

"That's exactly what I mean!" Rachel whimpered. "You're as bad as I am—always drunk!"

Feeling a stab of guilt, Vaschel moved his hands away from his face. "Aw, Rachel, I turned out fine."

"Look," she exhaled, regaining herself. "It's not even going to be permanent—her older brother is contesting custody as soon as he's old enough—two years I think Toni said."

"Not soon enough, in six months we have to leave for Lordaeron to help the stupid humans build the church, remember?" Vaschel lifted his eyebrows.

"Her brother will have visitation—between he and Adel, shouldn't be a problem."

Vaschel rolled his eyes. "Fine, do what you want. Don't even know why you're asking my opinion," he grunted.

"Well, because…" Rachel shifted from her heels to the balls of her feet, then back again. "…it was tough enough to get the twins when I already had Adel, mostly because on paper it looks like I'm raising them all by myself, but if you sign with me—"

"No," Vaschel answered flatly.

Rachel stomped a foot, crossing her arms. "Could you at least look at the girl before you make a decision?" she growled.

//SET LOCATION: LORDAERON, 15 YEARS AGO

"Daaaymn! I am fillin' out, right?" like a knife, a high-pitched voice sliced through the peaceful dusk air. "You know what I'mma do? Get me some of them dresses that the whores wear, and fancy makeup, and—what's that?"

The owner of the squeaky, punky voice was a young teen who, contrary to her own statement, appeared as if she hadn't eaten in weeks. Pale, sickly-looking skin was almost entirely concealed by clothing at least five sizes too big for her small frame. An old, close-fitting hat concealed short, dark red hair, but did not shadow wide eyes or big lips. As gaunt as her face was, her large features served to give her an almost ridiculous quality that was cute in its own way, though she was likely to grow into them with better nutrition.

"I don't hear anything," answered her traveling companion, speaking for the first time all day. This man was actually her prison guard briefly, and the whole time she was on lockdown she was certain she hadn't heard his voice once until the night he aided her escape. The conversation had scarcely improved since.

The man was a paladin and older than herself—probably old enough to be her father, not that age meant anything to her. He had dark hair down to his shoulders, dark brown with a gray here or there and a whole mess of scars underneath plain, unassuming clothing. She supposed he was pretty good-looking for an older gent, not that looks meant much to her, either.

"I know I heard somethin'," she countered, then bolted through the trees without warning.

Without even uncrossing his arms, the man trotted after, stopping abruptly just as she did before a pile of what he suspected was once another girl. Her chest, one of the few areas recognizable in the gory mess, heaved up and down with great effort.

His young charge stared with wide, mystified eyes, wetting her lips as her own breath shallowed. As morbid as his runaway had shown herself to be, it did not surprise the old paladin in the least that she was so attracted to this wreck of a life form, so close to death as it was.

He was, however, internally startled when his scrawny girl turned to him shouting in a voice of desperate urgency, "Fix her!"

Quickly and wordlessly he dropped to his knees to comply, open hands meeting instantly and heavily with the pitiful wretch's face. As soon as their skin made contact, a surge of ultra-pure light ripped through her body like an explosion of hot ecstasy screaming through every fiber of her being, physical and spiritual.

Her bones snapped back into place with subtle cracks and pops that sounded deafening in her ears, torn tendons twisted and wrapped themselves into place, broken organs fused themselves together, blood reproduced itself spontaneously and pumped itself quickly via her newly strengthened heart below skin knitting itself together miraculously. Her wrecked body literally reshaped and reformed itself, going from a pathetic flesh pile back into a human.

Dark, almost black eyes shot open and with a gasping start she sat up, staring around her surroundings like a frightened dear.

The old paladin stood and took several steps back as to allow his girl range to do as she pleased, which she probably would have done regardless of where he stood. None the less, his work was done.

The recently revived Lisys Grind settled her eyes briefly on the strange girl, or--? Lisys truthfully wasn't certain if she was looking at a teenaged girl or a younger boy; the short hair and the baggy clothing were misleading, but her face was very effeminate.

Shifting a heavy bag off of her shoulder, the redhead produced a large skin of water which she opened and dumped atop Lisys's head, melting away the disgusting grime on the poor girl's abused body.

Turning her head, Lisys's eyes fell next on another stranger, this time a much older male. For a mere moment her near-black irises held his bland, blank eyes before she remembered with horror that she was completely naked. Whimpering frightfully, she scrambled further away from him on all fours until she bumped into a tree. Confused tears brimming in her eyes, she attempted to cover herself with her arms as best she could.

"Huh?" the strange girl, who was in actuality a female only a couple years Lisys's younger, asked with confusion. "What on Azeroth—" she began before tracing Lisys's gaze to the man with a laugh. "Oh, I get it! You're shy!" Then without hesitation she stepped forward, grabbing the bottom of her own over-sized shirt. By the time she'd crossed the short distance between herself and Lisys, she'd whipped the garment off and held it out to Lisys, knees and back bent slightly as to level their faces.

As she bent a long necklace with a heavy decorative sword pendant bounced, then fell to rest between bare, small-but-cute breasts, affirming the notion that Lisys was looking at a woman.

"Here!" offered the stranger with a wide, ridiculous smile planted firmly on her face.

Very reluctantly, Lisys reached out to take the top from her. "But… you…" she managed weakly.

"Aw on't worry about me!" the redhead insisted, straightening her back. "I ain't shy! I can just walk around like this!" she declared, crossing her arms over her chest. After a moment however, she appeared to think better of it, and she dropped her arms. "Well, you know, I can just get another one."

Lisys pulled the garment over her head quickly, tugging it down to cover as much of herself as possible. "Th… thank you…" she stuttered shyly, looking at the ground.

"No problem! My daddy was an asshole, too… that is who did this to you, right?" asked the runaway.

The paladin continued to hang back and stay out of the way, seemingly undaunted by all of the nudity.

Lisys shifted and tugged the shirt nervously, shaking her head.

"S'all right! I already know," scoffed the strange girl scoffed, looking around thoughtfully before turning back to Lisys. "Well, I'm sortuh runnin' from the Silv'ah Hand Right now, so I can't really take ya with me. You're actually probably safe-uh here, believe it or not, otherwise I would, but let me tell ya what!" she grabbed the bag she'd previously dropped, and rummaging through, produced a small hatchet. "This little baby axe here's got a special meaning to me, and now, I present it to you!"

Lisys tilted her head as the stranger set the weapon down beside her.

"Take it, and if he touches you again, axe him a question, all right?" she instructed with a giggle. "If ya can't swing it, find someone who can," she added, pulling her heavy bag back over her shoulder. "See ya later!" she called as she trotted off.

Silently, the older man followed her away.

//SET LOCATION: SILVERMOON CITY, 20 YEARS AGO

"Now how could you deny that this is the best decision we've ever made?" Rachel asked her brother as the both of them stood on either side of an old crib, the same the twins had only recently outgrown. "Look at how cute she is!"

In between the two Dauntlights laid a tiny newborn with dark hair who was, much to Vaschel's surprise, just as beautiful as his sister had described. Still, he could not admit this out loud.

"Yeah, whatever," Vaschel grunted instead, tipping his head back to gulp down half of the whiskey bottle in his hand.

"You know, now that we've got another baby in the house, we should really drink outside," Rachel mused aloud, ripping the bottle away from Vaschel but only to drink the other half herself.

"Hey--!" Vaschel growled, then sighed. It was gone, no sense in arguing. "Right, sure. That'll last for maybe a day, tops."

"Yeah, you're right, we're pretty hopeless," Rachel agreed, ears twitching as a loud knock sounded at the door. "Oooh~ That would be him~!"

"I got it," Vaschel smirked, moving around the crib.

"No way! You'll scare the poor kid," Rachel insisted sternly, pushing around her brother as she moved down the hall. "Let me get it."

"I love scaring people," Vaschel reminded as he shoved her back, hurrying down the spiral incline that lead to the upper level of their home.

"That's the problem!" Rachel retorted, leaping the remaining distance and making a dash for the door, but at the very last second Vaschel grabbed her arm and jerked her back, opening the door first after all, thus reserving the privilege of being the first Dauntlight to lay eyes on Negate Voidbreaker for himself.

The aforementioned teenage elf stood nonchalantly in plain clothes, thick, jet-black hair secured in the same tail he'd wear behind his head for the rest of his life, revealing an expressionless face that quickly shifted appearance into open surprise at the sight of Vaschel.

Vaschel's expression likewise twisted. The holy warrior's third sense kicked in instantly, warning the paladin that something was amiss. Leaning forward slightly he caught the problem almost instantly within the younger's face: just barely, around the outside edges of his eyes, the fluorescent blue glow melted to a subtle greenish color.

The two stared one another, Negate with confusion and Vaschel with borderline abhorrence, before Rachel finally managed to push Vaschel aside.

"Hey!" she called, waving. "You must be Negate—I'm Rachel, nice to meet you!" she greeted jovially, motioning for the young man to enter.

"The whoreson is a warlock!" Vaschel finally managed as Rachel shut the door behind the teen.

"Excuse me?" Negate lifted his eyebrows in Vaschel's direction, clearly offended, but the gesture went unnoticed.

"I've cosigned for some sort of adorable demon spawn!" Vaschel shouted dramatically, throwing his arms at the sky pitifully.

"What is he on about?" Negate asked, turning to Rachel with disdain. Already he was questioning the judgment of the great kingdom of Quel'Thalas—_these _people were better fit to raise a baby than he?

"Ah, ignore him," Rachel waved the question away as Vaschel rampaged about the house, all but yanking his hair out. "He's a paladin and a bit of a drama queen when it comes to the holy light. Funny, when he was little, I had to bribe him to go to church—now he's almost out of hand."

"Oh, you're religious," Negate observed with polite surprise. That thought had never crossed his mind, and elfish paladins were a rarity to the point where Negate had never, and thought he would never, actually see one himself. This was a complication he had not foresaw, and it left a bad taste in his mouth. After all, he'd need signatures from these two when the time came for his sister to be returned to him, lest he desired a lengthy court battle.

Watching subtle fear run across Negate's face, Rachel couldn't help but smile. Already, she liked this kid. "Hey, calm down," she offered warmly, patting Negate's shoulder as to bring him back out of his mind. "I'm pretty open, and Vaschel—" she paused briefly, waiting for Vaschel to finish a particularly noisy agonized scream, "—will come around."

"Thank you," Negate returned, albeit suspiciously. As Rachel came close enough to pat him, he smelled liquor on her—_fantastic_.

"Vaschel!" Rachel shouted, moving away from the young warlock. "We've got to show him around the house, remember? He can't babysit for us if he doesn't know where anything is!"

xwx

Finally convincing Vaschel to calm down, Rachel managed to direct her brother's attention to the task at hand: filling Negate in on rules and regulations. _As long as the door was unlocked, he was essentially allowed to come and go as he pleased. They kept good count of any valuables in the house, so don't try it. Any demons he attempted to bring in would be slain personally by Vaschel the magnificent. The living area was next to the kitchen was next to a spare bedroom used for nothing, but besides that anything of importance was upstairs. At least three nights a week he was expected to watch his sister and the two youngest Dauntlights, seven-year-olds Lindel and Orel, but Adel would help him with that…_

"And speak of the devils!" Rachel cooed as she pushed open a door, wherein sat a pretty blonde elf his age with a young set of identical twins—exceptionally rare among their species.

The older girl took no notice of anything, appearing too consumed with brushing the twins' hair, though Negate took plenty of notice in her. As with all members of this family, it seemed, her hair was silvery and there was a lot of it. She had a small, lithe body, cute in its own right, but his eyes instead settled on her plump, red mouth.

The familiar sound of a baby crying pierced Negate's ears briefly and he turned away, looking down the hall. "Oh, I'll—" he began, but Rachel cut him off.

"Nah! You'll have plenty of opportunities for that later on," Rachel advised, pushing the boy aside. "I'll get her—really, kid, you need to slow down—your mom just died, for crying out loud," she scoffed, disappearing down the hall.

"Hm." Negate watched Rachel go, then turned his attention back to the room and consequently, Adel Dauntlight.

Vaschel watched Rachel go, too, wondering how his sister had managed to stay so benevolent after years of screaming children, before shifting his attention to the warlock beside him. Tracing the younger male's gaze to his sister, he bent down and whispered nonchalantly, "Cute, isn't she?"

"Yes," Negate answered, and no sooner had he spoken than Vaschel's hand shot upwards, wrapping around Negate's ebony ponytail, as he quickly shut the door to cut off Negate's view. The paladin jerked Negate's hair, forcing him to face upwards where Vaschel had an imposing fist ready.

"Touch her," Vaschel snarled, "And I will rip your eyebrows off."

The warlock wiggled the antennae-like appendages in question, as if debating how attached to them he really was, before rotating his eyes to Vaschel.

"To be quite honest," he answered flatly, "even if I wanted to, between this and three jobs—I wouldn't even have time," he scoffed.

This reaction significantly less than Vaschel was expecting, he released the smaller male reluctantly, running his words through his head before returning with, "You're pretty ballsy for a spellcaster."

"Thank you," Negate answered, cracking his neck and smoothing his hair.

"Sure," Vaschel scratched the back of his neck, still unsure how to feel about this teen. Ultimately, he decided he'd ask a test question and determine from there. "…Do you drink much?"

"All better!" Rachel shouted, interrupting Negate's answer as she strode back down the hall toward the two males. "I hope you two are getting along?"

For several moments, neither of them said anything at all, until a sudden thought struck Vaschel and, completely ignoring her question, he asked one of his own.

"How long ago did this kid's mom die?" he asked insensitively, as if Negate were not standing right beside him.

"Last night," both the warlock and Rachel answered in unison, both clearly irked by his manner.

"…I'll be back." Vaschel answered, completely missing their tone as he turned quickly and dashed down the hallway.

"Vaschel, wait!" Rachel called after him, rushing a ways down the hall and then down along the spiral railway with Negate in tow before she heard the front door slam, cutting her off. "Augh, I was going to ask him to get some bourbon while he was out…" she groaned.

Negate lifted his eyebrows at the ranger. "Oh?"

"Yeah! Damn, I don't suppose you'd be comfortable if I left you here by yourself for just a second?" Rachel requested almost pleadingly, clutching her hands tightly together. "I really hate to go too long without it."

The youth opened his mouth to protest, then thought better of it, and shut it, before replying instead with, "Go right ahead."

"Oh man, thanks, ah, you already met my sisters, and if you want, you can go up and see yours, okay?" she smiled warmly, hurrying toward the door before pausing briefly to look up at him, already on his way back upstairs.

"Hey—take it easy on yourself, okay?" she advised warmly. "Don't worry so much—I can tell you are already—we're a crazy family, sure, but she's in good hands, all right? And it's not forever," she reminded before slipping out the door before he could respond.

And instantly the whole house seemed to slow down somehow for Negate in a way that made him almost believe Rachel's words. Actually taking the time to absorb the scant decorating, he continued on his way up the spiral to the second level. This whole tragedy—his mother's death, his sister ripped out of his arms, meeting these people—everything seemed to happen so quickly that he hadn't actually had time to process any of it, and with heavy eyelids it suddenly occurred to him that he had barely slept in the past twenty-four hours.

Really, it wasn't so suddenly as it looked from the outside. Negate's mother had been ill from his earliest memories on; her death was a long-time coming. Actually, the event was almost a relief, to know that the poor woman would no more suffer. This fact, added to his naturally cynical nature, made it easy to push away any sadness and instead replace it with the feeling of being inconvenienced: if she could have held out just two more years, he wouldn't have to fight for his little sister.

Turning down the left hallway, Negate only gave a brief glance to the door where behind he knew that girl—what was her name again?—with the pretty face was hiding. Giving her only the briefest thought, he moved into where Rachel had previously shown him his little sister was staying to gaze upon the sleeping ball of flesh that was a the newborn elf.

As sensitive as Negate was, he'd always thought babies to be quite ugly, and therefore did not understand the hype surrounding them that women like Rachel perpetuated; but since she was his own blood, and his own mother had sacrificed her own life for her, Negatory Voidbreaker was precious and he would not allow her to be raised outside of his family. Not trusting his tired limbs to hold her, he simply leaned over the crib to watch her, and before he knew it his head slumped, and then…

With a start the warlock awoke on the floor, leaning against his sister's crib, where mere moments ago he had been standing. Not certain if he'd slept minutes or hours, he hurried from the room and down the hall to see if Vaschel or Rachel had yet returned. As badly as he wanted to continue sleeping, he simply hadn't the time; there were many more questions to be asked before he could head off to work, then he had to see about the deed to his late mother's house, then about funeral arrangements…

Breaking Negate's thoughts, a door in the narrow hallway came open quickly, almost quicker than Negate's tired reflexes, and narrowly missed hitting the boy in the chest. Instead he flattened himself quickly against the wall with a startled half-shout.

Then all at once the door shut again, and Negate stood facing the girl with the braided pigtails Rachel had shown him earlier. Crossing her arms, the girl stepped forward aggressively, as to keep Negate pinned against the wall.

"You must be Negate," she spoke, voice cutting high and clear through the otherwise still home. "My bitch sister has been talking about you all day." There was a chilly quality to her voice that almost brought shivers to Negate's spine, though he chose to ignore it.

"Right, and you are--?" he asked, lifting an eyebrow at her. In all honesty he didn't have time for her, but the very least he figured he should do was reaffirm her name.

"Adel," she answered just as coldly, and then, before Negate could move, she drew a sword that had been previously resting at her right hip and pushed it against the warlock's throat, holding him back up to the wall. "While you're here, we ought to take the time to establish a pecking order."

At this point, Negate could not help a dark laugh. There most certainly was something wrong with this family. Then, all at once, his laugh cut off abruptly. "Not now," he answered, though he already had a feeling arguing with this girl was near useless.

"Yes now," she answered with a snarl in her tone that suggested she was not used to being argued with, just as he suspected. Keeping the sword against the boy's throat she stepped forward again, pressing her soft, warm body promiscuously to his. Leaning forward still, their noses touched.. "Ah, now I see it… your eyes _are_ tainted."

Negate inhaled deeply, feeling the warmth of her threaten to overtake common sense. Her face was so close that any breath he took was hot, expelled first from her pretty lips. "You can look later. I am serious, Adel, but with all due respect, I haven't time for this."

All at once her curious expression turned back to nasty and she drew off of him a step, snarling at him twistedly. "Listen to me, demon consort, I heard my brother threatening you. If for whatever reason I have to cut your pretty body up, I think he'll cover for me—understand?" she growled, but then continued, with a dark laugh, before he could answer. "You know—boys are always telling me I have a pretty mouth—does it do anything for you? Mmm, if I ever catch you staring again, I'll make good on my threats."

Much to her surprise, Negate returned with a snicker of his own, honestly amused by the true depth of insanity in which he'd found himself. Ultimately he resolved that if she would be aggressive, so would he, and with startling determination his hand shot forward, pointedly grabbing the sword's blade.

A quiet gasp escaped Adel's lips as she watched, with near- nervousness, as his fingers closed around the weapon, coating the steel thickly in blood upon contact. Quickly averting her eyes back to his face, she found he was unflinching.

"Listen," Negate hissed, pushing her several steps back until it was she against the opposite wall, dull end of the sword pinning her back at the chest as he continued to hold the blade.. "You _do_ have a pretty mouth, I _will_ stare to my heart's content, and if you're going to threaten me, you'll need something far more frightening than pain as a deterrent." Then, leaving her in quiet shock at her own failed attempt to gain control of this newcomer, he released the sword and left her there, doing his best to keep his hand from trailing blood on the stone but failing woefully until the gash sealed itself at the end of the spiral.

Thinking himself alone, he started for the kitchen, where he would wash off the drying red liquid, when a voice from the dark—as the sun was quickly setting—caught his attention.

"Your full name is Negate Voidbreaker, isn't it?"

Turning quickly on his heels, Negate found himself facing the tall, imposing paladin that was Vaschel Dauntlight. With a relieved sigh—relieved that Vaschel was down here as opposed to up the stairs where he could have witnessed the exchange with Adel—he nodded. "Correct."

Vaschel nodded, holding a stack of envelopes in one hand, and a recently unfolded piece of paper in the other. "Turns out you work for a friend of mine—Daynha?"

"Ah, right, I watched her son every-so-often," Negate answered, wondering if holding a friend in common might help him win this man's opinion and, in the end, his younger sister.

"Yeah, she showed me where you live—turns out you live near here, what a small world we live in," Vaschel chuckled with a tone that almost made Negate nervous.

"You went to my house?" asked the warlock cautiously, suspiciously.

"Yeah!" Vaschel laughed. "And now I'm reading your mail—who's Cevian Voidbreaker?"

And suddenly, all of the color drained from Negate's face. A holy warrior for a foster parent, that was a tough enough issue, but nothing he couldn't handle. _This, _on the other hand, was dangerous. "What do you want?" Negate insisted, snapping his head back to face Vaschel fully.

"Hm," the paladin smirked, glancing over the paper in his right hand. "Says your step-mother is doing well, and he sends his love…"

Snatching the paper from Vaschel angrily, Negate repeated, almost snarling with the same fury Adel Dauntlight had shown mere moments ago, "I _said: _What. Do. You. Want?"

Vaschel shook his head, snickering lightly to himself. "Absolutely nothing."

"Then why even—" Negate started angrily, but before he could finish, Vaschel cut in.

"I have problems with my own old man—if you have a reason for keeping this guy out of your sister's life, I get it. I just want you to know I've got some pretty good blackmail against you, so you better act right, demon consort," the paladin demanded, his grin only widening.

Instead of intimidation, Negate felt a twinge of admiration. Crazy as this family was, they were also more crafty than they appeared—every single one of them, it seemed. If he played his cards right, he might make some valuable friends here.

"Fair enough," he answered finally, looked away briefly, then returned his eyes back to Vaschel. "And to answer your earlier question—No. I do not drink much."

*END CH7: CONNECTIONS*

^BEGIN: DISCUSSION^

**Escalus: **So I found this "I DRINK YOUR MANA!" elf and homg it reminded me of Negate, too! It made me go EEEE inside with happiness! If Negate had a sillier personality that would be perfect XD

Also, Dawnn *was* a priest. xD so that's pretty funny. I, personally, don't think I base anything on anything besides myself and people around me, I don't think. "Ingébïarge" (I c+p'd) is a pretty brutal name. XD I'm on US server, but I can't say I RP much anymore. I used to, but now I'm too busy! X_X Though I really do appreciate the offer, for real. If I do have time in the future, maybe over the summer, we could see about it. You'd have to teach me how to RP in WoW though, I've always RP'ed over mediums like AIM.

**Joseph: **Awww, my story is a birthday gift? =D And thank ya, I hope you like this chapter too.

**Kcekit: **well thanks doll! Please feel free to comment any time! I looove reviews, for real. You guys can't even begin to fathom how encouraging it is to get reviews, and I usually try to return the favor eventually—not always in a timely manner, but eventually.

SO, now you know how Negate met Vaschel, but who is this mysterious pair in Lisys's life? =)

The next chapter will be mostly Lisys/Negate in Brill. It won't be near as exciting as the last couple chapters woefully, but you'll see a slight improvement in Negate's attitude—who here is sick of his steamroller of mean on the poor undead girl? XD I'm having trouble writing it, to be honest, so I'd say gimme until the 21st. Of course I'll hurry along, but sometimes it can be tough to make questing exciting. xD

Also, feel free to message me guys. If you're reading this and you're too shy to review it in public or just wanna chat, feel free to send me somethin' through 's mail system, I'll reply and I'll be nice, I swear.

Lessthanthrees.

^END: DISCUSSION^


	9. Chapter 8

*BEGIN: CHAPTER 8*

//SET LOCATION: BRILL

As the door shut quietly, Lisys sat up in bed, stretching her arms with an angry scowl.

"Even uglier when I'm sleeping… who does he think he is?" she growled, climbing out of bed disdainfully.

Moving to the window between the beds she remembered, with a half-loving, half-irritated sigh, sleepily stumbling into the room the night before. With surprising civility, Negate kicked the room's previous inhabitants to the next room over. Assuming she would be next, Lisys began to leave as well, but to her surprise, he stopped her.

"Where are you going?" he asked impatiently.

"I… out here?" she answered meekly, pointing out the door as she turned to face him slowly.

"I don't think so," he returned haughtily, crossing his arms. "Deathknell was tiny and familiar to you, and I still lost track of you—I was even forced to converse with Deathguard Oliver as a result! I don't want you lost here."

Lisys clenched her fists irately. "That was because you kicked me out of the inn!" she hissed.

"I did?" Negate lifted his eyebrows, mildly surprised. "By the sunwell, if you were staying there first, you should have said something," he growled.

"What difference would it have made?" she scoffed, imagining Negate chasing her from the room in Deathknell much like he had forced Claire and the enchanting trainer from the room they now inhabited mere minutes ago.

"Well…" Negate began, then clicked his teeth shut as it occurred to him that he would have probably forced her to sleep in the hall.

"Well?" Lisys demanded.

"I'm sorry," Negate exhaled. "Happy? Now stay here—I'm serious, I don't want to look for you in the morning."

Beaming, Lisys climbed into the bed next to a beautiful painting while Negate threw off his robe and likewise fell into bed. Then either of them were out cold almost instantly.

Now, staring out the window Lisys wondered exactly where she stood with this elf. In the short time she'd known him, he'd been rude, and she was fairly certain that he honestly did not want her around. But then, every once in a while, he'd say something sweet or apologize—but then, he'd always take it back again.

She turned around suddenly at the sound of the door opening to see Negate had returned. Pausing in the doorway, he seemed startled.

"Oh, you're awake."

Lisys nodded her head, deciding not to call him on his earlier comment. "I feel volumes better, too. How did you sleep? Anything from your sister?"

"I slept fine, and no, but I'm not really surprised—I'll check again tonight," he answered mildly, glancing Lisys's dagger on the table. Reminded of an earlier incident with Crusader Jibreel, his nose wrinkled. "We still need to discuss that damn letter with the Executor…"

Sheathing the weapon, Lisys smiled and nodded. "And pick flowers, and hand over the pumpkins, and look for more work…"

"Let's get started, then," Negate sighed, turning back around.

Lisys agreed, hurrying after him. "Looking out the window, I noticed that you were right—it is a might drearier than I remember," she commented cheerily by way of making conversation.

"Phasilica's told me that once upon a time, it was really no different than any other human town," Negate concurred, "mostly happy, loyal peasants."

"That's how I remember it, too. Who's Phasilica?"

"A very good friend of mine, likewise Forsaken, but much prettier in the facial area," Negate explained.

"Oh," Lisys tilted her head. Negate had friends—who would have thought. "Mmm! Executor Zygand," she interjected, pointing.

"Hm." Negate lifted his eyebrows, examining Zygand's mostly-bald head and loose jaw centered in a typically gaunt face, and all atop a skeletal horse. "Handsome fellow."

"Now don't be snotty," Lisys ordered fondly as they approached the horseman where he stood directly in front of the Town Hall. "Excuse me—Executor!"

Zygand looked down upon Lisys and Negate with impatience. "What?" he demanded, tone carrying the same short quality with which most Forsaken spoke.

"Executor Arren in Deathknell requested we bring you these…" the Forsakenness answered, dropping her bag on the ground to rifle around a surplus of tiny pumpkins in her bag. Producing a small stack of wrinkled, mistreated papers, she offered the executor a smile. "Ah, I've been holding them for a while…"

Zygand snatched the papers from her and scanned them with his eyes disinterestedly before a flash of enlightened realization came over his face. "Ah."

"Ah?" Negate and Lisys asked in unison, glancing at one another and then to Zygand once more.

"The documents Executor Arren provided are just the break we needed in our battle with the wretched Scarlet Crusade," Zygand explained, something of a grim smile overtaking his features. "…but the Deathguard have other concerns. The Lich King's army grows in number each night. We need someone with _initiative _like yourselves to drive the Scarlet Crusade to the grave. Prove to me that you are capable of serving The Dark Lady by traveling west to the tower past the Solliden Farmstead and slay 10 Scarlet Warriors," he demanded, looking pointedly at Lisys.

"Ah," she mumbled, clearly struggling to appear cheerful. "Of course." She turned away to walk away briskly before the executor could see her face fall. Stepping just a short distance away, she covered her face with her hands—_more _humans?

"Lisys?" Negate inquired, trailing her. "Is there a problem?"

Removing her hands from her face, Lisys kept her gaze down. "No, I'm just so sick of the goddamn Crusade," she sighed sadly, shaking her head. "You know, not all Forsaken are so ambitious as they might have you believe—many of us just want to be left alone."

Immediately reminded of Phasilica once more, Negate nodded his agreement. "It must be obnoxious to have a cult group existing solely to harass you at every opportunity."

Glancing around, the elf found the town to be quite bustling compared to Deathknell; surely there was plenty of work to be done here, and he honestly felt a little off this morning about pushing Lisys so hard when he was the only member of this party to benefit from the hurry. Returning his gaze to Lisys, he added gently, "Let's take a break from the Scarlet Crusade—we already dealt with humans all of yesterday, and I'm weary of them as well. We can do this tomorrow, I don't see the urgency in it."

"Really?" Lisys asked, turning to Negate and beaming when he nodded. "Oh, thank the shadow! To be honest, I'm sort of worried about running into that Jibreel again—every time I do, I feel a little sick inside…"

Smirking, Negate shook his head. How on Azeroth could someone so terrifying be so timid? "I'm sure we're probably rid of her—but no matter. Let's find this Apothecary Johaan and give him these damn heavy pumpkins. Can't imagine what they'd be useful for," he grumbled, directing Lisys to a house which he assumed by the jars and test tubes of bubbly liquids was occupied by an Apothecary, if not Johaan himself.

"I hear the Royal Apothecaries are weird," Lisys warned as she walked through the door.

Preparing himself for the excessive morbidity he assumed Lisys was alluding to, Negate cleared his throat. "Excuse me, good sir," he called, then stepped back with a wince as the inhabitant turned.

Wearing black and silver robes that marked him for one of Sylvanas's personal mad scientists, Apothecary Johaan was a frightful sight. Blonde, filthy hair extended out from his head several inches with some sort of cardboard-like quality, but was completely absent atop his head. Yellow eyes glowed like hellfire above a disproportionately large nose, and most of the skin in his cheeks had worn away.

"Ahh, Deathguard Simmer sent word a pair such as yourselves were going t provide me with some much needed reagents. Were you able to gather my pumpkins yet Negate? Lisys?"

Either of them shifted around their belongings with solemn nods, dumping an overabundance of vegetable onto the floor.

"Ah, you have preformed your bidding well, young warlock," Johaan praised Negate as he hobbled near, examining the vegetables. "And you, Lisys, are proving yourself to be quite an asset to the Dark Lady's army."

Negate and Lisys exchanged looks as the scientist gathered the pumpkins, smashed several against the table, and began to mix together all sorts of cruel-looking tonics. Just as the pair began to slowly back out of the tiny home, the old Forsaken turned to them once more, holding an ordinary pumpkin on a dish.

"Harmless pumpkins, right?" he asked, gesturing for the two to move closer once more.

Almost reluctantly, Negate and Lisys took tentative steps back through the door.

"Or so it would seem," continued the apothecary sinisterly. "If we are to defeat Arthas's advances from the North and the human infestation from the south, we need to start realizing the full potential of our gift of undeath."

Negate started—he could scarcely imagine undeath as a gift, and he had never before heard of a Forsaken who thought so much, but he did not protest.

"With a little ingenuity, a simple pumpkin becomes an agent for our Dark Lady. This pumpkin, laced with my latest formula, will prove to be quite a treat. Yet another Scarlet Zealot has been captured and is being kept in the cellar of the Gallow's End Tavern. Take this pumpkin to the fool."

Curiously, Lisys reached out to take the dish, inspecting it curiously. "An agent for our Dark Lady?"

"Probably poisoned," Negate scoffed, turning from the tiny home to walk briskly toward the inn. Smirking, he wondered what his lightful friends back home might think of his helping steal civilian farmers' food supply, adding poison to the ill-gotten gains, then offering the tainted food to an unsuspecting prisoner.

"I almost pity the zealot," Lisys trotted along behind Negate, examining the dish as she followed Negate into the inn.

Considering the size of the town, the Gallow's End Tavern was surprisingly populated, and while Negate was quickly becoming accustomed to the abundance of Forsaken, Lisys was completely unaccustomed to crowds of any race. Skittishly, she held the unholy meal tightly and half-hid behind the elf.

"There's Renee," Negate paused, gesturing lightly with his head in the direction of a plain-looking undead girl with cropped, blonde hair.

"Oh!" Lisys started, peeking around Negate's shoulder. "On the way out, I should give her the letter…" she determined, recalling the deal she'd made with the shady rogue in Deathknell.

"And I'll ask around for more work," Negate concurred. "but first, to kill the Crusader."

Together, the elf and the Undead moved to the back room, a cozy area with a butcher's table housing some gory, unidentified meat, and from there, down to the cellar.

Ignoring two deathgaurds standing their eerie, sleepless watch over the prisoners, Negate and Lisys found the accommodations to be quite pleasant in comparison to what the pair knew the Forsaken to be capable of. The basement was no more than an average cellar, with stone walls and a dirt floor, here and there a barrel or crate. While a far cry from cozy, it was no prison either—certainly better than agents of the famous S.C. deserved.

"We brought dinner for the human," Negate informed Deathguardess Royann snarkily as they passed, lest she try to interfere. "Apothecary Johaan's orders."

With that excessively skittish quality present in the way her hands quivered, Lisys sheepishly offered the pumpkin to the dark-skinned prisoner, clad proudly in red.

"Stay away, foul and unholy creature!" the crusader shouted so loudly that Lisys flinched. "May the light protect me! The Scarlet Crusade shall rid Azeroth of your—oh wait. Is that food for me? I am so hungry…" and then, just as Negate was preparing to step in and save Lisys's failing resolve, the man took the pumpkin and all but shoveled it whole into his mouth. "By the light! Finally some food! Sweet, sweet pumpkin…"

As soon as the meal had been consumed, Lisys dropped the plate and scurried behind Negate once more with a fervor that made the elf smile. He thought the irony of her hideous shyness charming, if not a slight humorous, and wondered with pity what the girl would do without him. Shy, ugly, weak, and directionally challenged—where in the world does a girl like that fit?

Shortly after her departure, the zealot's expression changed dramatically from one of condescending to one of pain. Gasping, his entire body began to quiver. "I… I don't feel right…"

"Here it comes," Negate smirked, arms crossed.

Curiously, Lisys peeked around him just in time to witness the human transform into a hideous creature that was anything but. In an instantaneous 'poof' the man became a sort of ghoul with lanky, rotten limbs and beady, horrifying eyes. It appeared the man had turned into exactly that which he hated most.

"My flesh, my mind… it's rotting!" screeched the heathen, raising his grubby claws to his head as he began, dragging his feet lamentfully for the stairs. Deathguard Royann raised her sword, but lowered it with a snicker as the crusader collapsed at half the distance. In the event of the creature's death, he once more became a man.

"Oh…" Lisys squeaked, covering her mouth in surprise. "Well, serves him right, I guess… see how he likes it."

"Hm. Well, I've done my good deed for the day," Negate turned, exiting the cellar. Without a glance backward, Lisys followed just as nonchalantly. Once topside, the pair relocated Innkeeper Renee.

Looking first to Negate for approval, Lisys approached the woman, letter in hand. "Excuse me."

"Yes?" Renee inquired, returning Lisys's gaze. "Yes? What is it? The Forsaken, they certainly do have huge appetites. Make yourself at home… yes, rest those weary bones. My name's Renee if you need anything at all."

Smiling internally, Lisys shook her head. "Actually, I've got a letter for you," she informed, holding the envelope in an outstretched hand.

Negate watched the two women briefly, then once he was fairly certain Lisys's ever-waning confidence would not fail her, he turned away to inquire with the patrons about work. One man in particular appeared to be attempting to hail his attention.

Renee took the letter from Lisys, examining it with a warm smile. "Oh? A letter? Wonderful news! I've been waiting for word from my dear old mother in Deathknell. Such a saint, she is. I wonder how she's holding up."

Thinking it strange that the shady rogue Lisys obtained the envelope from had made contact with this woman's mother, a saint no less, Lisys tilted her head in confusion. "Ma'am?"

"What?" the other snapped, suddenly clutching the paper tightly. "Too cheery? Not buying it, are you?" with a rude gesture, the woman actually snarled at Lisys. "Well, get lost then… it's really no business of hours who the letter's from anyway. Go on! Get lost! Next thing you know, you'll be coming back to rest after a long day's adventure or some stupid thing like that."

Eye-sockets wide, Lisys turned around quickly to hurry back to Negate's side, all but whimpering. While she did not take offence—secrecy (sometimes coupled with violent mood swings) was a common virtue of the Forsaken—still, Renee had startled her, and Lisys would always just assume run away as opposed to return hostility.

Scurrying to a stop beside the elf, she found him locked in conversation with a Forsaken by the name of Coleman Farthing, a man she recognized in passing from life. However, uninterested in conversing on the past—particularly in front of Negate—she held her silence.

"The Agamand family was the most prosperous family in Tirisfal Glades. I used to work in their mills… before the Plague," Coleman began.

Lisys's attention perked twicefold—if she recalled correctly, the Agamand's were cousins-by-marriage to her own Miss Andy, the very reason she'd come to Brill with Negate in the first place. Silently, she wondered if there was anything to be found there.

"When the Scourge first came, the Agamands fortified their home and convinced those in their employ to remain and help them defend. We were fools, but at least we were loyal fools. The Agamands, in their pride, doomed us to undeath. And now they are minions of the Scourge! Serve the Forsaken by defeating the Agamands who fell to the Plague. Serve me by bringing me their remains," Coleman growled, flashing four silver through a vengeance-tightened fist.

Negate glanced downward at the proposed reward, then back to his face. "All right, you shall have your revenge."

Smirking, Coleman continued. "Devlin Agamand was the younger of two sons in the Agamand family and in life the two could not be more different. Thurman was tall and gentle while his younger brother was weak and sharp-tongued. When Agamand Mills fell to the plague, I was not surprised to hear that Devlin was quick to succumb… his mad chattering can still be heard near the road to the Agamand Mills. While I'm collecting the remains of the Agamands, I want poor Devlin. Find him, destroy him, and likewise bring his bones to me."

"By nightfall," Negate answered, turning for the door. "Come on, Lisys, we need to speak with Deathguard Dillinger, Mr. Farthing advises he may have more for us, and the Apothecary before we head out," he advised, exiting the inn.

"Head out… to pick flowers for Gordo?" Lisys asked chipperly, recalling the quest from the night before. She was almost excited for a leisurely activity, it would be a nice start to the morning.

"Correct, then whatever the hell the magister wants, then the mills," Negate informed.

"Mmm, another busy day," Lisys cooed, though she didn't really mind. After sleeping so long and hallucination-free the night before, she felt ready for almost anything. "But just one minute," she added suddenly, spotting a leather merchant in front of the local blacksmith. "I want to patch my clothes, first."

Negate was about to protest, citing that she wouldn't need it for picking flowers, but silenced himself once he caught sight of the merchant himself. Quietly he followed behind her.

Eliza Callen, as the leatherworker was named, was comparatively attracted for a dead woman and a black leather halter-tank exposed a slim, smooth midriff, perfect snow-white in color. If he ran his hands over her midsection, he imagined the woman would be cold, like he recalled Lisys was, in all places except where was warmed by his own skin as he backtracked over the same area.

Forcing his gaze to her face, he first noted two, thick studded-leather straps concealing Eliza's eyes. The covering looked painful in such a way that, when applied to a woman like this, appealed heavily to a hopeless sadomasochist such as himself.

Below a cute nose, likewise concealed by the thick leather straps, was a set of purple, unnaturally thick lips, and for the first time in a long time, Negate found himself stuck staring at an attractive woman's face. Instantaneously he was reminded of Adel, and a stabbing pain in his chest completely obliterated all lecherous thoughts from his head.

Frozen in place, his breath came up short. Of course, he was in the habit of staving off emotions for Negatory and for Vaschel, who'd lost so much more to the Scourge than he, but out here, where he could think about whatever he pleased, he missed Adel Dauntlight terribly.

"There," Eliza announced, finishing what minimal patching the fellow Forsakenness needed. "You shouldn't need any work for a while now."

"Thank you," Lisys answered graciously, paying the woman before turning to find Negate staring. Sighing, she decided to give him credit for at least zoning out on Eliza's _face_. "Negate?"

Tearing his gaze from Eliza, he lifted his eyebrows. "Lisys?"

Behind them, Eliza's attention perked at the mention of Lisys's name, but for the moment she remained quiet.

"Is… something wrong?" Lisys asked, hurrying along as Negate began out of town. Something in his tone was different, and it concerned her.

Stopping abruptly, Negate pointed out towards their right. "By the sun, that graveyard's enormous!" he exclaimed, easily shifting the subject of the conversation.

Deciding not to press him, she nodded her agreement. "It is—and tonight I intend to search the whole thing over."

Thinking this a bizarre way to spend an evening, Negate stared. "What for?"

"Misses Andy," Lisys answered, unable to keep an edge of sadness out of her voice. "A friend of mine. I… I'm not really sure what happened to her after the plague. Actually," Lisys's mood shifted to half-affection, half-shyness, "it's one of the reasons I agreed to partner with you—so I could get out and look. I did tell you, in so many words, I was looking for something, if you remember… she's what I meant."

Negate watched her speak with surprising sensitivity before answering. "When we're done picking the gloom weed, we'll turn it over to an apothecary in this very graveyard—we can look around together then."

"I… really?" Lisys asked, dumbfounded. Surely Negate wasn't being nice to her…?

He dipped his head in a nod. "You said this was what you mentioned when we first met, right? I remember. I told you then that I would help."

"Oh, yes… so you did," Lisys agreed, squirming inside with delight.

//SET LOCATION: SILVERMOON CITY

"Negatory…" Phasilica whispered irately, rubbing her empty eyes out of habit as opposed to necessity. She hadn't slept at all the night before, simply too much to be done, and what does the tiny elf do but wake her early. Now that her loft was empty and her room was emptier, finishing the letter seemed a great task. Laying her head down, she welcomed sleep, if it would be so kind… But it wasn't, and the Forsakenness found herself caught in the in-between stage, with surreal scenes from the past playing in her head teasingly, telling her they were real.

_The sun was high in the sky above her head, and the grassy field before her signaled summer was in full swing. This scene was a recent memory, little more than two years ago, and in some vague way she was aware of the outcome, despite her sleepy, dreamlike state. She remembered she did not like the end of this particular memory, and she wanted out on some subconscious level, but was powerless to shake herself awake._

_Suspiciously, the undead kneeled, inspecting a crop of herbs that had been nearly crushed by the unforgiving step of the careless, trying to decide if it was even worth picking. No matter how many times she told herself, or anyone else, that she was no-longer a primary healer, out of old habit she would keep such medicinal trappings close by._

_Ultimately deciding to leave it, Phasilica tilted her head up and started to stand, but stopped abruptly. As if she appeared from nowhere, a pretty young sentinel pointed her arrow directly down unto the undead's face._

_Braid efficiently draped over a purple shoulder, the guard watched Phasilica with a cold sense of duty for a brief moment before speaking to her, in Common that she was not even certain the undead could understand, "Go ahead and run—I will shoot you in the back."_

_Wondering what Alliance City she'd wandered too closely to, Phasilica shifted her gaze this way and that briefly before the jarring "bong" of a shield smacking Earth in front of her knocked her backwards to a crouch._

_Vaschel, in full plate armor, now stood behind Phasilica, while his shield stuck in the ground between the arrow tip and the squishy undead. Leaning over her as she crouched, Vaschel placed his elbow on the top of his shield and his face on his hand, leisurely and condescendingly smirking at the sentinel._

"_Well hello there, star-child!" he snickered, knowing full well the sentinel could not understand him, but unable to resist antagonizing her anyway. "Go ahead, sweetheart—shoot. It's a damn shame my sisters aren't alive to show unevolved assholes like you how to string that cute little toy in your hand… but skill or no, I'll still have to kill you."_

_Well aware that she was beaten and thoroughly unsettled by the vampiric smile set on the blood elf's features, the sentinel took a half-step back._

_Forcing her way up between Vaschel's arms, Phasilica stared up into the night elf's eyes, turning the situation over in her head. Finally she spoke, with Common a might shakier, grown rusty from three years of neglect._

"_Turn and run home, and I won't let him hurt you."_

_Though eager to avoid confrontation with this man, whom to her reeked of illegal arcane, she could not help but remain to shiver at the dark that seeped from Phasilica's voice. "I will feel no malice as I go," the sentinel replied after a brief pause. "It only saddens me that they are so deadened to their own heritage," she glanced at Vaschel, then back to Phasilica, "…as to protect something so unnatural as you."_

"_Go," Phasilica snapped hastily, ignoring Vaschel behind her as he demanded to be included in this conversation. "Or I will renege my deal and hold you still for him!"_

_Turning hastily, the sentinel started away, and it occurred to Phasilica that she had not wandered too close to an Alliance city at all—rather, the Sentinel had wandered too close to them._

_Vaschel began after the other elf, but Phasilica pushed her arm in his way. "I told her you would let her go."_

"_What!?" Vaschel protested, fists clenched. "What did you tell her that for!? You know how I feel about those purple bastards!"_

"_Let her go," Phasilica replied, not in the mood for his childishness._

"_But… Phasilica!" he whined almost pathetically._

"Phasilica! Phasilica!" the very same blood elf whimpered in much the same tone back in the real world, distraught over his inability to wake her. By this time, it was mid-afternoon, and the Forsakenness was _still _caught within her waking dream.

In desperate need of attention, Vaschel seized the undead woman by the shoulder, shaking her with another pitiful whimper. "Phassillliiiiicaaa!"

The heat of him as his hand closed around the exposed bone in her shoulder sliced through the past like a sharp sword, settling inside of her rudely, numbing her head with delirious elation and her body with blind euphoria all topped off with flecks of holy light.

Jumping with a half moan from her seat so quickly the chair fell over, she ripped her shoulder from his grasp, drew back her right hand, then pushed the back of it straight across Vaschel's face in perhaps the most powerful backhanded-slap in history.

Completely off-guard and already dizzied by a morning of drinking, Vaschel stumbled backward until his back met the opposite wall, hand holding a glowing redness on his cheek. "…What did you hit me for!?"

Rotating her wrist, Phasilica frowned. His face hurt her hand. "I've told you a thousand times, Vaschel," she explained, regaining complete composure, "knock before you enter my room."

"Well sorr-EE!" Vaschel returned, pushing himself back upright as he continued to rub his cheek. "Burst a vein, why don't you! Hardass…"

Crossing her arms impatiently, Phasilica merely stared at him without sympathy. "What do you want, Vaschel?"

Turning around quickly, the elf revealed an enormous tear in the back of his shirt, reaching from the collar nearly to the bottom. "Can you fix this? I got in a bar fight."

At that moment, if Phasilica could burst a vessel, she would have. Leave it to Vaschel to burst into her room, unsettle her slumber, and all for a torn shirt he'd awarded himself at a bar fight barely past noon. Exhaling pure frustration, she moved to her dresser where in she kept tailoring supplies.

"Thaaank you~!" Vaschel smirked, as if he knew the whole time she would agree.

"Hold still," she returned irately around a needle held in her teeth, "or I'll poke you." Expertly pinning the tear together, she found it tempting to stab him on purpose.

"Yeah, yeah," he scoffed, thinking it funny this squishy priestess would bother a holy warrior such as himself with warnings of a pinprick. However, shifting tones dramatically, he added, "…Also, I need to talk to you about something…"

Knowing this could be anything from a serious _I'm-sorry-I-cut-off-Mason's-head-in-farstrider-square-a-couple-years-back _to a frivolous _do-you-think-I-might-strike-more-fear-into-the-enemy-with-dark-hair_, Phasilica tensed and prepared herself for the conversation, however stupid or sincere it might be. "Yes?"

Inhaling and thankful the tear was in the back of his clothing, so that he did not have to face her, he went on. "I don't think you should leave the city by yourself anymore. I don't know how often you do… but when you do, ask Negate, I, Negatory—anyone to go with you."

Furrowing thin eyebrows, the Forsakenness was immediately on guard at the mention of such a strange request. "To what end? I can handle myself."

"I know," Vaschel answered, already feeling the conversation wasn't going well. Why on Azeroth couldn't the woman just agree with him for once? "But just as a precaution."

Clever as Phasilica was, she could guess the source of his concern. "This doesn't pertain to a certain blood knight—does it?"

Internally cringing, Vaschel decided to keep to truthful territory as much as was possible. "It might…"

Nearly half-way through mending the tear, Phasilica pushed several pins into a cushion she'd set on the bureau. "I suppose you think the wretched woman is too kind to strike me down in front of the Voidbreakers?" she laughed lightly.

The elf struggled to force down an instinctive snarl, vowing silently not to punish the undead for what he assumed was an innocent remark. "Don't call her wretched," he ordered, snapping more than he meant to. "It's more insulting than you realize."

"The _cretin_ then," she revised, mock-respectfully.

Inhaling deeply, Vaschel continued. "Look, I just don't want you to fight her."

"Well, your concern is heart-warming," Phasilica announced icily as she finished mending and began to replace the materials neatly in her drawer. "Albeit one-sided. I could drop the woman on the ground before she ever came close enough for the sword or plate to make a difference, and you know I could."

"Phasilica—" Vaschel began, turning to face her, but she cut him off with a cold stare.

"Your worry for the strong-headed girl is misplaced," she informed him with a motherly this-conversation-is-over tone. "If the fool rushes me, let me assure you, I will at the least show her more kindness than you had shown Mason."

"Right," the holy warrior sighed, accepting defeat. Mason was something he didn't want to talk about. "Well, can't blame a guy for trying—right?"

"Wrong," she answered, lifting a thin, challenging eyebrow. "Now get the hell out of my room."

"Bitch," Vaschel returned, crossing his arms as he exited. Though he was frustrated, that conversation honestly went only about as well as he expected it would, which was not at all, and he was prepared with a back-up plan: write Negate a letter, drink off the stress all night, then try his luck with Dawnn in the morning. It was brilliant.

//SET LOCATION: BRILL

"This way, Lisys," Negate smirked as the Forsakenness began to wander down the wrong fork absent-mindedly. "We need to move north from here, _remember?"_

"Oh, right," she muttered shyly, turning around. "Sorry, I wasn't paying attention."

Negate shook his head, snickering. "It's all right, it's been a long day… again, thanks to that damn graveyard. I apologize that all of our effort turned ultimately fruitless."

Westward, the very direction the pair had walked, the sun sat low in the sky and threatened to disappear all together within the hour, warning the elf and ex-human that they would return to Brill in the dark.

"Don't be sorry," Lisys tilted her head curiously. "Maybe it means she's still alive…" Below her feet, she could feel the change from well-kept stone pathways to mossy, over-grown roads. Somewhere in this area was the exact location where she'd first ever laid empty sockets on this particular elf, and consequently became enamored with his life.

This was also the first place he'd ever called her ugly, starting what would become something of a traditional habit over the next few days, then suddenly wane this morning. He wasn't perfect—he'd insulted her while he thought she was sleeping, and he was still snickering now at her lack of internal compass, but at the least he had been notably more patient.

While the undead trailed behind him, deep in thought, Negate found that he was forced to stop repeatedly as to wait for her to catch up. Finally, about fed up, he turned around to scold her for not paying attention when he noticed something bizarre: as if injured, she stepped heavily on her right foot every other step in a sort of half limp. Certain she had always walked just fine in the past, this development concerned him. "Lisys?"

"Hm?" Tilting her head up and out of "Lala Land," she stopped beside him.

Elegant brows raised, he bent backwards slightly to examine her legs before turning his gaze back to her face. "Are you… limping?"

"Li--? Oh!" Lisys nodded, but waved off his question in a way that signaled the issue wasn't important. "It's just a habit from life, but I'm fine, don't worry."

"Limping is habitual?" the warlock questioned skeptically.

"Well…" Lisys appeared nervous, but did not shrink from the inquiry. "My leg was hurt when I was—maybe 22? And I died at 33, so that's eleven solid years of gimping around everywhere. To be honest, sometimes I still forget I can run."

As she was talking, Negate's jaw dropped. "Eleven years!? What on Azeroth happened?" Having spent the second half of his life in the presence of a paladin, Negate wasn't certain he'd seen an injury so serious.

Pushing the subject made her squirm more—but she did not want to invite suspicions and create further questions. "I…" she threw a quick gaze to the tall wind mills ahead, then looked back at Negate. "I actually worked here—mill work is dangerous, and it mangled my leg."

Satisfied with this explanation, Negate rose his hands to summon Jublop. "Did you know the Agamands?"

"Not personally, no," she answered, disdainfully glaring at the creature as it appeared.

Jublop evidently noted Lisys as well, because instead of his regular summersaults, he assumed an offensive pose and prepared to exchange insults with her, but hadn't the time to utter a word. Mere seconds after its appearance, a fully armored skeletal warrior found its owner, forcing it instead to charge a fireball.

With an iron grip the skeleton's boney hand closed around the blood elf's shoulder, eyes glowing like red hellfire that threw an even darker light off Negate's ebony hair. Neither Negate, Lisys, or Jublop saw the creature approach, and the latter two were both certain they had never seen the former jump or struggle so violently.

When the undead reached Silvermoon only a short five years ago, the entire population was caught virtually unaware. Ranger-General Sylvanas Windrunner had requested extra presence around the southern border in response to reported disturbances in Lordaeron, but her entire camp had been mercilessly slaughtered before any warning could be sent.

Vaschel, who had been waiting for word from any or all of seven sisters and five nieces, grew suspicious and watched the city gates closely—the payoff for his suspicions came in the form of a half-hour warning he was able to pass to his friends, and at around seven-thirty in the evening, just as the sun was sinking behind the world, Dawnn Highnoon crashed through the Voidbreaker's front door.

Negatory, who'd always fallen asleep exceptionally early remained so, but Negate hurried to investigate the crash only to find the young priest dressed for a fight.

"Take Negatory and get the hell out of Quel'Thalas!" he demanded before Negate could utter anything at all, and just as quickly the young priest disappeared. Still, even with the alert, Negate wasn't exactly able to leave unscathed, and the long-reaching consequences of the war would break his sister's nerve and cost more than the warlock more than he could have ever imagined.

Standing back, casting spells was fine—even the strike of their swords bothered Negate only minimally more than any such injury would. But when he actually felt the stupid, heartless hand of the scourge, his skin crawled and something of an illness rose inside of him. This was suffering incarnate. The hand on his shoulder belonged to an agent, a representation of all that had gone wrong in his life. If Lisys hadn't personally yanked him from the creature's grasp, he might have lost himself to dizziness.

Awareness smacking him in the face, Negate started, turning quickly to see that Jublop had redirected the creature's attention, and to his other side stood Lisys, watching him with open concern.

"Negate? …Is something wrong?"

"Ugh, no…" he grumbled, shaking the last of near-forgotten sorrows from his system. "The scourge disgust me, that's all."

"Me, too," the Forsakenness agreed with a vigorous nod. "Since it's getting so late, maybe we should divide and conquer?"

"That's not a bad idea. Remember what we've come for?" Negate asked. In truth, he simply needed to be alone: splitting up was the best idea he'd heard all day.

"Devlin, Nissa, Thurman, and Gregor," Lisys answered with a happy nod. "I'll take the fields this way—okay?"

"Perfect, meet back here within an hour," he ordered, then began forward, toward an old-broken down house.

xwx

Negate located Nissa Agamand fairly quickly, so quickly that he could have killed her and rejoined Lisys only twenty odd minutes after leaving her if it weren't for Jublop, who had the obnoxious habit of trailing too far behind him and attracting unwanted scourge attention.

Careful to avoid an incident such as before, Negate let Jublop off one or two fireballs before he bothered to strike himself, keeping the skeleton's attentions firmly placed on what they perceived as the bigger threat. Smirking, he imagined that if he had known Lisys in life, it would have been something like this: waiting for the gimpy girl to catch up while afflicting whatever was trailing her. The only difference, of course, would be that Lisys is much, much quieter.

Well past the five ribs and three skulls he needed, thanks in no small part to his irritating pet, Negate was finally able to shift his attention to Nissa, who had since come to stand in the doorway of what was once her prosperous home. Open surprise registered on his face as he realized that he was looking at a banshee—a _human_ banshee. Never had the warlock heard of such a thing, and for reasons he couldn't understand, it unsettled him, but regardless he had a job to do.

Sending Jublop first (who completed his bidding with typical complaining), Nissa fell easily, bringing a dark smirk to his lips as he collected her essence. Evidently, human banshees weren't made of the same stuff as the elfin variety—naturally. So caught up in his cockiness, Negate scarcely noticed the sound of heavy boots coming down the staircase to his right until it was almost too late.

Turning his head quickly he could see a pair, a male and a female, striding casually down from the upper floor with no real sense of purpose. Thinking at first that he was gazing at a pair of Forsaken warriors, Negate almost called out to them, but stopped himself short. As if by intuition he sensed something was amiss, and quieted himself, instead choosing to examine them further.

Their armor was unlike any he'd ever laid eyes on before, mostly black or navy in color, and at least the girl threw a soft blue glow on the wall before her from… her eyes?

Realization stabbing his ribs with a force unlike any other, Negate immediately scoped up his imp and threw his hand over its mouth, lest it attract their attention in an attempt to get him killed. Then, seeing no other suitable hiding place, he swallowed his pride and ran for the other side of the room, dropping to his knees at half the distance as to slide effortlessly into an old, long-abandoned fireplace. His robes would be covered in dust and dirt, and his long, trailing ponytail had probably picked up some contaminants as well; but at least this way he might live. Holding his imp to his chest tightly, he kept his hand firmly over the creature's beak, and damned if Jublop didn't take to biting his hand.

Later, he would see to it that the demon paid for his impudence. Any other time of the day, insolence would have been tolerated—but here, in the presence of two death knights, there was little room for attitude.

Reaching the bottom of the stairs, Negate was afforded a full view of both of them, as he hoped and prayed they were not afforded the same of him.

The female was an oddity: what was red hair in life had inverted itself to acid green, reaching just down to her shoulders. Her eyes and lips were almost too big for her face, the former emphasized by the cold, blue glow the Lich King had been so kind to mark her with; but the disproportion was cute in its own right, like a child waiting to grow into her features. Her body, on the other hand, held no childlike resemblance; rather, she was gifted with a full bosom with weight left-over for her backside. Her waist, however, was pleasingly narrow as in all Forsaken women, and her armor was so kind as to leave this area exposed.

Cursing himself for any guilty thoughts he was unable to keep from surfacing, he forcibly turned his attention to the male.

His hair was medium length for a human, short by blood elfin standards, at varied lengths, though never passing his shoulders. It, like his partner's, had shifted color to an unnatural purplish hue. At one time he had a gentle but quiet face; now, however, it was mostly obscured by the same fashion of thick, leather straps Negate had noted on Eliza Callen, the leatherworker back at Brill. He was tall, around Vaschel's height Negate assumed, and broad chested. While physically far more intimidating, Negate sensed a calmness in him that contrasted an almost psychotic vibration that oozed out of every pore of the female's very facial expressions.

Although Negate would never have believed that such a thing as a Forsaken death knight existed, he could certainly see the advantage in it: these two, especially the male with his eyes covered so efficiently, could slip in and around Tirisfal Glades, spying on Sylvanas, without attracting too much attention.

Pausing in the center of the main room, and consequently mere yards from where Negate hid, the girl drew a sword seemingly five sizes too big to examine herself in the reflection. Then, all at once she turned to the man with a sudden urgency. "Hey—did I evah tell you that ah fucking hate elves?"

Clutching Jublop, Negate tensed. Had they discovered him already?

*END: CHAPTER 8*


	10. Chapter 9

~BEGIN: AUTHOR'S NOTE~

You know what this story needs? More BOOZE.

~END: AUTHOR'S NOTE~

*BEGIN: CHAPTER 9*

//SET LOCATION: AGAMAND MILLS

When the man did not answer (and she expected that he would not) she simply continued. "Ah really fuckin' hate elves—hideous es-oh-bees with the gayest damn language I ever heard! And yet…" she paused, rotating her shoulders with a near sickening fluidity of motion, "I'd still rather be savin' that dumbass Koltira. At least then we'd get to kill some people! Shit, everyone here is already dead. And I hate Tirisfal Glades!"

Negate breathed a deep sigh internally as it occurred to him that the woman was referring to someone else entirely, and had likely not yet taken notice of him. Still, he was not quite yet out of danger: something hard—loosed brick, perhaps?—was digging into his back, and Jublops's teeth were steadily beginning to draw blood.

Cracking her neck, the female knight exhaled deeply. "So where is this Nissa bitch any-lightdamn-way?"

"Saiynt," her partner called flatly with a deep, baritone voice, emotionless to a fault. Having hailed her attention, he pointed to the floor near his feet.

Curiously, she crouched low to the ground and ran her fingers over some sticky ooze where Nissa had fallen—the remainder of her essence.

"Weyll, I'll be damned," she laughed, springing to her feet again. "Bitch is already dead! Guess it makes our job a lot fuckin' easier, huh? Since we got some time to kill…" she seized her partner by the arm suddenly, smiling broadly with a certain unstable quality Negate couldn't quite place. "…Wanna have sex in the dead banshee's old room?"

Negate's jaw dropped open as he wondered for just a moment if he shouldn't join the Lich King's army himself. Of course, as soon as the idea entered his mind, he remembered that most death knights—at least from what he had encountered—were more akin to the man: solemn bringers-of-death, hence the name. This woman was probably a rarity among her class. Curiously, he determined he would ask Vaschel or Phasilica later.

The male looked down at his companion as she clutched his arm appealingly with clear skepticism on his stony face, but nodded all the same. Then, with the type of excited squeal Negate would sooner expect from his little sister than from an agent of destruction, the strange woman snatched the other knight's hand in hers, lacing their fingers together like lovers.

"Yeah! I knew you'd be down!" she cheered, pulling him toward the stairs. "This will be awesome!"

Waiting until he was certain the two were out of earshot (and more than likely _quite _distracted) Negate allowed himself to breathe again, releasing his hold on Jublop as he rolled out from the fireplace. Jublop was quick to somersault away from his master, spitting blood he'd chewed out of Negate's hand.

Negate rubbed his back with a groan as he glared at the uncomfortable stonework fireplace to find a solid object among the ashes—likely what was causing his backache. Since his hands were already filthy, he curiously reached into the soot and produced a thick, leather-bound book. Rifling through it briefly, it appeared to be some sort of accounting records regarding payroll for their workers.

"Hm," the warlock flipped through the pages quickly, scanning each with mild interest. "I wonder if Lisys is in here."

"That hideous beast!?" Jublop cackled, dancing around his owner.

In light of his small discovery, Negate had almost forgotten about Jublop, but was reminded in the event of the creature's screeching. Snapping his head to attention, he snarled at the imp. "You little shit! I have had enough of your impudence!"

Yellow eyes widening, the creature appeared startled by the sudden outburst. While he'd never thought of his master as patient, this was above and beyond typical, and he had every reason to be frightened: after all, the fate of him rested within the blood elf's hands.

Placing his clothed boot upon the creature's head, Negate pressed downward until its little legs gave out. "I'll tolerate no more—another attempt at my life will see the end of your existence, do you understand!?" he hissed.

The imp began to protest, but before he was able, Negate lifted his foot and delivered a powerful kick to the small demon's chest, sending it sprawling. Then, with a lost meaningful snarl, he dismissed the creature back to the hellhole from which it crawled.

Exiting the home quickly after, the elf cursed—it was dark, the sun had long since set completely—and he needed to find Lisys and get out of the mills before the death knights, ahem, _finished _and caught up.

xwx

The remains of Thurman and Gregor Agamand rested soundly in her backpack as Lisys patrolled along the road for the last, Devlin. Part of her felt quite prideful that the majority of this quest had fallen unto her, but the other was a bit worried; she assumed Negate would locate Nissa quickly. Still, the plan was to meet within the hour, and it'd only been about forty-five minutes—not yet time to panic, although she strongly would have preferred his help locating Devlin.

Suddenly, much to Lisys's surprise, Devlin Agamand found _her. _The crack of a steel mace on the base of her skull sent her stumbling forward several steps as the skeleton shouted, in an unnatural, booming shriek:

"The Agamand Mills is held by the Scourge, Rogue! Join us!"

Regaining herself, Lisys jerked her dagger from its sheath and spun around to face him.

Unique among his family, Devlin's bones had been picked completely clean by rot and wild animals. He appeared a skeletal mage, though his mind had long since lost the capacity to cast spells—instead he was reduced to wielding a barbaric mace, putting him below even the dark-eye bonecasters running freely over the mills. In fact, the only way to really tell him apart from the rest was his armor and distinctive purple cape.

"Hush!" Lisys demanded, slashing at him with her knife. "Mindless fool, you've no idea the trouble you have caused!"

White flecks of weak bone jumped at every slice of her dagger like mini explosions as the skeleton cackled, near hysterics. "You are rotting!" he screamed, raising his mace for another strike. "And there is no sympathy in all of the world for you!"

Knocking him once more with her weapon, Lisys literally broke the skeleton, and with a dying gaggle it collapsed into a pile of bone and dust.

"Mad chattering indeed," the Forsakenness scoffed, plucking the man's skull for proof to his demise. "I can't believe he wasn't slaughtered sooner; voice is worse than Jublop's…"

"By the sun, my sister has a doll in that hideous thing's likeness!" gasped her partner from somewhere behind her.

"Oh!"Lisys started, turning around quickly. She was forced to squint hard to find the elf in the night, even with the bright, full moon overhead. "Negate—Nissa was tough, hm? Where's Jublop? Gee, he didn't die, did he?"

"He came close," Negate scoffed, walking past her. "Actually, I ran into a pair of death knights, so we really should be leaving—quickly," the elf ordered, but paused to turn back around when Lisys did not follow.

"Death… knights?" she questioned, staring ahead of her as if stuck.

"Yes," Negate confirmed impatiently, crossing his arms. "And so we have to go—now."

With a pathetic whimper, Lisys covered her head against wretched, guilty pain as she recalled, with starting clarity, digging up body after body with the full knowledge that they would be reanimated to suffer as she was, all under the watchful eye of Arthas's finest, mindless and hateful under the unforgiving white light of the moon…

"Lisys!" Negate growled, doing his best to communicate the urgency of the situation. "Damnit, quit waiting time!"

"It doesn't matter…." She returned quietly, and with a heartless quality to her tone that unsettled the elf: it was out of place with her. "If they want to kill, they do… you can't really run away from them…"

"Lisys…" the warlock repeated, this time exhaling with sympathy as it occurred to him that, once upon a time, the Forsakenness had probably taken orders from the Scourge. Of course she, who was frightened by things so basic as social interaction, would be terrified of death knights. Approaching Lisys carefully, as not to frighten her more so, Negate placed his hands on her shoulders.

All at once, heat crashed through her insides, smashing away unhappy thoughts like a tsunami with crushing, unforgiving force. Her head snapped back upright, eye sockets wide, to find she was staring directly at her companion's face. Despite her best efforts and deepest desires to avoid eye-to-eye contact with anyone, but _especially _with Negate, she could not turn away. She was stuck.

"Uh… y… huh?" she stumbled numbly.

"If we get going now," condescendingly he removed one hand from her shoulder to pat the undead's head, like one would a child, "it will be a nonissue—we won't have to worry about them, okay?"

"Worry… about what?" Lisys questioned breathily.

Removing his hands to clench his fists, Negate felt irritation creep around his features. "Lisys!" he barked.

With a pitiful whimper, she jumped back and tore her gaze away quickly. "I'm sorry! Don't get mad, lead the way, I'll follow…"

Tilting his nose up indignantly, Negate began swiftly for the path. "It's late… at this rate, it will be well past midnight before we return…"

"Maybe so, but at least now we're done here—I killed Devin, Thurman, and Gregor, and you took care of Nissa, right?" when the elf nodded, she beamed. "So it was worth the extra time! Oh, and also…" flitting around in her pockets, she produced a piece of paper. "One of them was holding a letter, says it's to a Yevette Farthing—maybe related to Coleman?"

"Throw it out," Negate scoffed, shaking his head. "About had enough of other people's mail."

Lisys frowned, replacing the letter in her pocket. "How would you like it if someone found one of your letters and did not deliver it?" she demanded, clenching boney fingers. "Especially if you died—oh! How could I expect you to understand, you don't care about anyone else's feelings—" she rambled with frustration until he cut her off.

"All right! Keep it, we'll look for Yvette in the morning. By the sunwell…" Negate grumbled, unaccustomed to Lisys acting according to her own opinions.

Satisfied, Lisys beamed, but her smile fell shortly after another troubling thought resurfaced. "I guess the Scourge has lost its foothold—but what were those death knights doing here? You don't think they came to bother anything… do you?"

Negate smirked knowingly, shaking his head. "I honestly don't believe they'll bother anyone, at least nor for a while. They're…_busy_," the elf laughed maniacally.

"Doing what?" Lisys tiled her head.

//SET LOCATION: SILVERMOON CITY

Between a set of delicate tweezers, Dawnn's large, steady hand held a tiny cog piece, painstakingly crafted himself earlier in the day from heavy thorium. Closing his right eye to focus through the magnified lens in the left side of his goggles, he prepared to assert the gear into its place on a hair-thin axle. _Steady… steady_…

"Dawnn!" Negatory squealed, completely throwing the man's concentration. Bursting up from the day bed a short distance away, she stumbled back again and held her head. "Dawnn, I feel really strange still!"

Sighing, Dawnn abandoned his pursuit temporarily—concentration and Negatory simply do not go together. "Don't worry, it won't last. I'm glad you're awake," standing, the knight began to tidy his work area. "I was beginning to think I might have to carry you."

"Carry me?" she lifted her head up, swinging her legs over the side of the couch. "Carry me where?"

"My mother's," Dawnn laughed, moving to sit beside her. "I couldn't very well keep you here all night, I told you—your brother would kill me."

"Oh no! Nate!" Negatory squealed, eyes wide. "Never wrote him back! Eee, it's so late already!" she wringed her small hands in front of her, panicking.

"Hey, calm down," Dawnn soothed, placing a comforting palm on her shoulder. "If he's already sleeping, he'll probably check it again when he wakes up. Just write him now and he'll reply by tomorrow night, I'm sure of it."

"Right!" Negatory answered brightly, springing to her feet with renewed energy. Instead of simply requesting a pen and paper, she proceeded to tear through her friend's entire house like a whirlwind. At the expense of the home's typically immaculate condition and an expensive face, she found what was required in a matter of seconds.

Throughout the whole ordeal, Dawnn remained stationary, wincing once at the sound of breaking glass. "You could have just asked…" he sighed upon her return.

"Nah! I found it myself just fine. Thanks, though!" cooed the elf as she began to write as fast as her little arm could. "Oh, I can't wait to hear back from him!"

Sharing in her excitement despite the recent destruction of his house, Dawnn beamed. "Tell him I said hi!"

"`kaaay!" sang she, finishing quickly and jumping to her feet. "Now we deliver this letter to the mailbox!"

Jumping to his feet beside her, Dawnn bent his arm, fist pressed to his side, offering it to her. "Shall we?"

Hooking her arm into his, she nodded with a bright, sunny smile. "Yeah! Oh, I'm going to tell Vaschel that you've been a good babysitter so you two won't have to fight over this, okay?" Negatory gleamed, literally skipping out the door along side of him.

Careful to keep pace with the much, much smaller girl, Dawnn skipped with her. "Hmm? What makes you think we'd do that?"

"You really don't like him, right?" she questioned, furrowing elegant, dark eyebrows.

Returning to a normal walk, Dawnn shook his head with disdain. "Ugh, no… I don't dislike Vaschel, not at all, we just… don't always agree, get on each other's nerves, normal stuff…"

"Oh, that's a relief," the girl exhaled, abandoning her skip as well as the pair approached the mailbox. "But at the same time…" expression saddening, she stared at her envelope before dropping it into its destination.

"What is it?" asked the knight, concerned by the sudden shift in her mood. When she did not reply immediately, he bent slightly, hands on his knees, as to be closer to her level. "Tory?"

"This afternoon… that's our secret, right?" she bit her lip, refusing to look him in the eyes.

"Of course!" Dawnn laughed, straightening his back. "I told you—I want to live!"

"But—would you…" she paused, whimpering. "You're a much better person than I am, I feel so wretched for asking…"

"Asking what? You know that isn't true, and you can always ask me anything," Dawnn shrugged, glancing out around them to ensure that no one was eavesdropping.

"Would you bold-face lie for me if you had to?" she burst suddenly, pleading him appealingly. "I know that everyone… everyone wants me to be so cute, and if they find out that I messed up, they'll—"

"Whoa," Dawnn quieted her, setting his hands on her shoulders. "Everyone wants you to be yourself, trust me. You're cute enough naturally, no need to stress over it. Besides, even if someone did think you made a mistake, it's not like you'll get written off."

Grinning broadly, she finally lifted her face to his. "Thanks—that means so much to me! But… would you lie anyway?"

"Sure," Dawnn removed a hand from her shoulder to pat her head. "Don't worry about it, okay?"

"Oooh! You're my best friend!" Negatory cheered, turning away from him to skip down the sidewalk, bursting at the seams with her usual energy once more. "Which reminds me! I've been meaning ot talk to you about your wedding!"

Face falling, Dawnn chased after her. "You're still on that kick?"

"Yeah! I met this girl who would be _perfect _for you…"

"Another blonde priestess?"

"Duh! You're a blonde paladin, who else could it be?"

"Tory, it doesn't always work out like a fairytale!"

"This will! And the wedding will be sooo pretty!"

// SET LOCATION: BRILL

"Oh, wow…" Lisys mumbled, wide-eyed as Negate heaved several letters and a package from the mailbox just outside the Gallow's End Tavern. "You sure are popular…"

"I… I guess so," Negate answered, honestly just as surprised as she. "Looks like the whole damn city wrote me."

"Actually," leaning forward, Lisys took a closer look, "It appears to be only four envelopes, just… one of them is very thick."

"Indeed, that would be from my sister," he sighed.

"I can help you carry this," Lisys offered, taking the package from the elf as they strode through the door and up the stairs together. "Hey, there's a label on it! Oh, your language looks so pretty—may I ask what it says?"

"It says, _To: Negate; Love: Vaschel; parenthesis—it's not what you think it is—close parenthesis," _he replied mildly, having already read the label. As they moved into the room Negate had acquired questionably the night before, he tore open Vaschel's letter and began to scan it quickly. The man rarely wrote above third-grade proficiency, making this an easy read.

"What do you think it is?" ask the Forsakenness curiously as she set the package down carefully.

Without glancing up, he answered, "I am absolutely certain it's cheap liquor. You can open it, if you like, see if I'm right."

Struggling to contain her excitement, Lisys tore at the package like a mad woman to find, just as the warlock had predicted, an array of bottles. "Oh, wow! You must be psychic or something! What's this stuff taste like!?"

"Ugh!" Negate threw the letter down unto the desk with irritation. "The cretin! At least I noticed when she tried to kill me!"

"What?" Lisys asked, attempting to peek over Negate's shoulder.

Negate started to hide the letter before remembering she could not read it anyhow. "Never mind—repeat the question."

"Cheap liquor—what's it taste like?" she repeated obediently.

Negate glanced toward the opened package, shaking his head with a laugh. "Terrible."

"Oh, then… why drink it?"

"To get drunk."

"Oh…" Lisys glanced around her shyly before venturing to ask, very quietly, "What's… that… like?"

Negate lifted his eyebrows. "You… don't… know?" the reach of Lisys's naiveté never ceased to impress him. Surely she'd experienced inebriation before.

"I… was never really interested… and, I was always so ridiculously poor," she stumbled, taking a step back. The last thing she needed was to give him another reason to think her stupid and inexperienced. "Look, just forget I said any—"

"Want to?" the elf interrupted.

"Want to… what?"

"Get drunk," Negate replied, nodding his head toward the package. "There's enough in there to knock us both out."

"I…" Lisys stared at Negate suspiciously, waiting for him to revoke the offer or make some cruel joke. After a moment, she returned with, "Are you sure it's okay? Do we have time to waste like that?"

The elf glanced at the stack of letters. His sister was fine, and they were so close, and he hadn't really relaxed in a while… besides, Lisys was his friend, wasn't she? What kind of warlock would he be if he didn't corrupt her innocence a little? "Yes, we can afford to waste some time."

Covering her mouth against a squeal, she bounced up once. "Tonight?!"

"Sure—why not. It's already late, we'd never wake before noon anyhow."

"Yeah!" she cheered, then stopped all festivities abruptly. "Oh, can I go give the grave yard a once-over before? I want to make sure we didn't miss anything…"

"Go ahead, I have a lot of replies to write."

"Okay! Umm, I will hurry. Wait for me!" Lisys beamed, bounding out the door.

Negate watched her go, shaking his head lightly. Lisys was an oddity—like his sister in many ways, but painfully shy. And while he was thinking of his sister, he decided he ought to read her letter, next.

Sitting on the bed, he tore open the envelope and began scanning the four-page ramble, unable to prevent an honest, genuine smile from crossing his features—the first one in five or six days. Negatory had a habit of writing in the same manner in which she behaved—hastily jumping from one subject to another, with no rhyme or reason for the change. It was child-like, cute, innocent: everything he fought hard to preserve in her after their mother finally lost the battle against heartsickness, come hell or high water.

Almost dreamily he could recall that all throughout her childhood she'd had issue with holding still; she was always bouncing, always squirming, and one afternoon… _one afternoon what?_ For reasons he did not fully understand, something specific was struggling to resurface in Negate's head. Closing his eyes, he did his best to let the memory come…

_It was a completely ordinary day in Silvermoon City: sunny, warm. Five-year-old Negatory in tow, he walked the short distance down the street from his house to the Dauntlight's, reminding her impotently to be polite. It was a rare occasion that Negatory was knowingly rude, even from such a young age, but this was due more to good role-modeling and not at all to Negate's disciplinary skills, which were lacking._

_Knocking heavily on the door, he was met almost immediately by the sunny, smiling face of Rachel Dauntlight._

"_Hey! Haven't seen you for a while—what's up?" she asked, holding a bottle of bourbon in her right hand, the door in her left._

"_Racheeeel~!" Negatory squealed, dropping all pretense of politeness in favor of throwing her arms around Rachel's legs. _

"_I thought you might like to see her," Negate answered, nodding down at the tiny, dark-haired elf._

_Bending down, Rachel lifted Negatory up, adjusting the girl's pony tail (Negate could never get it right except on himself) with a broad smile. "Liar, you're here for Adel. Don't look at me like that—you think I don't know? Teehee, don't worry, I haven't told Vaschel. Come on in!" _

_Leading Negate down the hallway, she began to explain that Adel was out but would be back shortly when again, a knock sounded at the door._

"_Hm! We're popular today, aren't we, Tory?" Rachel cooed, handing the small girl back to her brother. "I'll be right back, okay?"_

Negate rubbed his forehead, sitting up in his chair. He recalled setting his sister down and stepping into the hallway curiously himself to see who was at the door, but who? Who was it? Frustrated in the way that people are when the edge of their memory is just out of reach, Negate rifled through letters subconsciously until he hit the bottom of the stack—a letter from Daynha.

_Daynha, it was Daynha. Standing at the door in typical street clothes—a loose shirt and baggy pants, a little boyish, very Daynha—and beside the redhead, her mismatched blonde son, standing nearly to his mother's chest though he was only ten years old. _

"_Oh!" Rachel started, surprised. Daynha made a point of keeping Dawnn as separated from the Dauntlights as possible, so her alarm was justified. "What—"_

"_Here," Daynha thrust a piece of paper at Rachel, sounding urgent but sympathetic rather than short. _

_Unfolding it curiously and without question, she soon looked back up to Daynha, laughing lightly. "Is this some kind of joke? You know I can't read Common, who is it from anyhow?"_

"_I asked the architect from Lordaeron to write my son letters so he could practice, look here," Daynha pointed, "It's translated."_

_Feeling a tug on his robes, Negate glanced down to see Negatory had followed him._

"_What's going on?" she asked, head tilted._

_Quietly kneeling down to her level, Negate placed his finger to his lips, gently signaling for silence._

_Placing a finger to her own lips and nodding to show that she understood, she turned to watch the scene quietly._

_Rachel held the letter up, reading the cramped handwriting in the margins aloud. "At… six-thirty this morning… Saiynt Cisneros and Sihner Xanthic were…" her voice grew suddenly quiet, far away—a sharp contrast to her typical, sunny self, "…executed, hanged by the neck… for their crimes against the…"_

"_Rachel, I'm really sorry…" Daynha mumbled uncomfortably. She reached out to touch the woman's shoulders, but before she could, Rachel collapsed to her knees, gripping the floor with small, dainty fingers._

"_No! This isn't fair! He really liked that girl! How petty! How could they execute someone over something so petty!?"_

_Negate quickly threw an arm around Negatory to keep her from rushing forward. He only had a vague understanding of the situation but knew enough to determine that they should not have witnessed this._

"_Damnit, they weren't hurting anyone!" she continued, covering her face. "Why do bad things always happen to people like this? Nate, Tory, my brothers, my sisters, Daynha, this!?"_

"_Hey, lady, don't cry!" Dawnn insisted, suddenly jerking his hand free of his mother's. Before she could stop him, he dropped to all fours, crawling to Rachel in an attempt to catch a look at her face. "I'm sorry—maybe I shouldn't have said anything?"_

"Hm," Negate opened his eyes once more, absently tearing open Daynha's letter. He skimmed it briefly, but found the contents uninteresting and returned back to his thoughts repeatedly. Saiynt—was it a common name among humans?

xwx

"Nothing again…" Lisys spoke aloud, striding casually from the arches signaling the end of the mass gravesite. Of course, in all honesty she expected no more—she and Negate searched with heavy vigor already. Still, she couldn't help being a little hopeful…

"Hey! Lisys!" called a friendly, but unfamiliar voice, from her right. Thinking at first it was her imagination, the undead ignored it. When the call sounded again, however, she paused, turning.

"Who--?"

"Lisys Grind, right?" Standing at her side for shadow-knows-how-long was Eliza Callen, the leather merchant who had fixed her armor earlier.

"Y- yes," Lisys answered nervously, stopping quickly. "How do you know my full name?" as she recalled, she hadn't even told Negate—had she known this girl in life? Fear choked her insides as she struggled to recollect, lest Eliza think her rude. "I'm really sorry if I don't remember you, ah, give me a minute…"

"It's okay, we've never met," Eliza answered quickly, waving her hands. "Really, don't stress. I know your name because I used to work with Missus Andy—I worked for her family when I was little, then we did a lot of tailoring together for war refugees, orphans and the like."

"You knew Missus Andy?" Lisys asked, empty eyes widening. "Then do you know--!?"

"Scourge," Eliza answered before Lisys could even finish the question. "She was risen as Scourge."

"Oh…" Lisys heaved a heavy, disappointed sigh. "So she did get sick…" rubbing her forehead, she pictured her delicate Missus Andy in the throws of a devastating fever, bed-ridden and with no one to look to her. Why did she have to disappear? And now… Scourge?

"I'm really sorry," Eliza mumbled, setting a hand on Lisys's shoulder. "I know this must be hard for you… If it's any comfort, she was very tough. All while he was sick, she was helping others up to the very end. Strongest woman I ever knew…"

Both women's eyes grew dim as they thought, neither speaking to the other for several moments. Finally, Lisys was the first to snap to attention.

"Hey," she said suddenly, then smiled sheepishly for startling the other, "Sorry… if you don't mind my asking… what are these?" Lisys gestured towards the thick straps covering Eliza's face.

"Ah, just some enchanted leather," Eliza replied, waving it off as something unimportant, "they don't add any armor or anything—just for looks. They're all the rage in The Undercity."

"Oh, do they hurt?"

"Mmm, yeah, quite a bit, actually—but they look so cool!" Eliza countered, smirking. "Why? Do you want a pair on your face?"

"I, well…" Lisys looked to the ground skittishly, "How did you know?"

Locking her hand around Lisys's wrist, Eliza hurried her to the black smith, mere feet from where they previously stood. "I saw your face when you caught your friend staring. I can get you some better clothes too, if you want."

Lisys huffed, throwing her nose in the air indignantly. "The warlock!? Hah! What does _he _have to do with anything?"

Completely ignoring the other Forsakenness, Eliza threw aside several swords in a small box next to the furnace, producing a red set of leather clothing. "Yeah! This is a bit sexier than what you've got on now. Here, try it."

"I… what?" Lisys stumbled, completely shifting tone. So Eliza was serious? "I… but… I like what I've got on!"

"This is tougher, and it will protect you better," countered the leather merchant. "_And _that guy will like it, I promise. Just try it on! What harm could that do?"

"Well, if you say it's tougher…" Lisys muttered shyly, taking the garments from Eliza. "But, do I have to try it on in front of…?" with a quivering hand, the Forsakenness pointed to Oliver Dwor and Abe Winters, two apprentice undead men who inhabited the smithy and had been following the women's conversation with heightened interest.

With an angry snarl, Eliza quickly rushed the men out of the shop. "There. Now, go on!"

"But the doors—"

"Don't be a baby!" Eliza snapped. "Just stand in the corner and be quick!"

Feeling as if she'd die (again) of embarrassment, Lisys rushed to the corner to comply, dressing faster than any female had ever dressed before, only pausing to breathe once the last buckle had been fastened. Her relief was short-lived, however, as she became aware of what she'd actually put on.

A crisscross halter bikini-like top with a buckle just below her breasts had even more cutouts than the average skimpy leather top as to accommodate her spine and shoulder bones.

"Ghah! My breasts will fall out!" Lisys squeaked, throwing her arms around her chest protectively. "I certainly can't fight in this! … I can't even go out like this!"

"Ahh, you really are pathetic, aren't you?" Eliza laughed, albeit affectionately. "I think I know what Miss Andy saw in you. Now hold still and close your eyes," Eliza instructed.

Half-whimpering, the shy Forsakenness obeyed. "I can't pay you for this, I don't have enough…"

"This will sting a little," Eliza advised, wrapping a studded leather strap around Lisys's face diagonally. "Don't worry about it—just hit me back before you leave, okay? … Are you ready?"

"Thank you," Lisys drew in a deep breath. "Ready."

Before the rogue could scarcely finish the last syllable, Eliza yanked the strap tight and fastened the buckle, causing Lisys to cry out in surprised agony. The idea was to create a permanent indent in the girl's skin where the belts would naturally lie. The procedure was successful.

A short time later, with both straps in place, Eliza helped walk a very dizzy Lisys to the door of the Gallow's End Tavern. The smithy and the tavern were only a few feet from one another, and yet Eliza honestly didn't think the other Forsakenness would make it.

"Sorry—I thought if I was totally honest, you wouldn't go for it," Eliza advised, stopping at the door. "Can you make it to your room okay?"

"Apology accepted, and yes," Lisys exhaled wearily. "Again—thank you, I'll make sure I get the money to you before I go."

"No problem, and… half price, okay?" Eliza smiled. "That's just enough to break even—consider it a donation."

"Really? Thank you!" Lisys repeated, broad smile appearing even broader than usual between the dark leather. Waving, she started to turn into the inn when once more, Eliza stopped her.

"Wait! One more thing…" shifting around in her pockets, Eliza produced a letter. "She… Miss Andy… wanted me to give this to you in case she died. It's in Common, so I wasn't going to say anything but… Well, maybe you'll find a translator?"

Beneath the belts, Lisys's empty eyes widened considerably. "Oh…" she exhaled, taking the piece of paper from her very, very carefully. On the outside, printed in neat, perfect handwriting were the only words in Common the undead girl _could _still recognize: 'Lisys Grind.' It was, in fact, from Missus Andy. She was certain of it. "I don't know how I could ever repay you…"

Exhaling through biting bitter-sweet, mixed feelings, Eliza waved her off. "Don't worry about it, okay? See you 'round." Then she left quickly, before Lisys could add anything.

"Hmmm… I wonder if she and Miss Andy… had something?" the rogue asked herself quietly as she watched Eliza go.

"Lisys!?" gasped a distinctive male voice as Negate emerged from the tavern. Having long since relived a distant memory in its entirety, written several letters, and lounged around for sun-knows-how-long, he finally decided that perhaps the Forsakenness had gotten herself lost.

"Oh, Negate," almost sunnily the girl turned, eager to ask his opinion. "I ran into Eliza Callen, and she told me about Miss Andy, and then she put these things on my face and got me some new cl—" suddenly remembering the, ah, condition of her new outfit, Lisys quickly threw her arms across her chest.

Negate stared intently at Lisys's face for several moments, quickly recognizing the apparatus as the same that he had seen on many undead, even gawked at on Eliza. The longer he stared the more mixed his emotions, until finally he found himself utterly speechless. It was attractive in a way, as addicted to suffering as he was, and it was certainly an improvement—the vengeful position of Lisys's eyes simply did not suit her, and as a result, she was hideous. Now, of course, the teeth were still frightening, all exposed by her lack of lip—this addition did not lead to perfection. But still, it was an improvement.

Then, on the flipside, the leather was studded and appeared to be extremely heavy. Just the weight of the device on her face had to be unbearable—much less the thick metal buckles in the back, hidden craftily by her hair, and how tightly the belts were fastened. In some ways, this _fashion statement _appeared inexplicably cruel. Why would anyone endure that kind of torture?

Dreamily, as if entranced, Negate finally ventured to ask, "You didn't do this for me, did you?"

Startled by the accuracy of his judgment, Lisys shook her head more vigorously than she meant to. "No! Of course not, I don't like looking at me, either," she answered quickly, then internally cursed at herself. Why did she have to go and answer like that?

Furrowing his elegant eyebrows, something akin to a shot of guilt stabbed the warlock in the ribs for the first time. Pushing it down quickly, he was thankful for the Darkmoon Special Reserve back in their room. "Well, it looks… nice." After throwing insults at the girl nearly non-stop, using her as an easy target to alleviate the stress of finding himself stuck in this God-awful place away from friends and family, the compliment felt awkward.

She did not appear to notice. "You really think so?" she asked, forgetting herself momentarily and releasing her chest to cheer.

Negate shifted his gaze downward, noting the red-leather top and matching bottoms were a great deal more showing than what she'd worn previously. He was relieved to find that, upon examination, regular instincts kicked in. This was 100% improvement—no guilt there.

Quickly covering herself up almost as quickly, she hurried around the elf and up the stairs, wondering if she'd ever get used to this new outfit. "Well—can we get started now? I'm excited!"

Negate nodded as he lead Lisys up the stairs and to their room, carefully shutting the door behind him. "It's important that neither of us leaves," he informed her, locking the door. "Alcohol—this stuff especially—can make people do stupid things… and you'll get lost."

Shaking her head with a quiet smile, Lisys quickly had a seat at the table near the door, where on sat the box of booze. "Who did you say gave this to you?"

"Vaschel," Negate answered, pulling a bottle from the box almost eagerly. "A friend of mine back home."

"Have you already wrote him?" Lisys asked, copying him as she waited for the warlock to answer. "Well, if it's not too late to amend the letter, can you thank him for me as well?"

"Certainly," answered the elf, popping the cork slowly so that Lisys could observe and follow suit.

"What's he like?" waiting for him to drink first, the Forsakenness nervously took a sip herself, and spit it out immediately. "Ugh! This is terrible!"

Negate laughed openly at her, drinking the foul liquid almost easily himself. "I told you!"

"Yeah, you weren't kidding…" she mumbled. Not to be deterred, she tried another swallow and this time, kept it down. "Ugh, burns my throat…"

Smirking with clear amusement, Negate briefly considered suggesting a mixer or even a chaser, but ultimately decided he'd rather watch her writhe. It was cute, in a hideous, scary way. "Vaschel is a paladin… and an alcoholic, hence the gift."

"Oh…" mere minutes later, Lisys felt the liquid hit her head like acid. Almost unable to stop it she relaxed visibly, dropping the arm she'd been using to cover her cleavage. "Can you tell me more about your friends?"

//SET LOCATION: SILVERMOON CITY, AFTERNOON

"You know what I like about you?" asked a pretty red-headed warlock, none other than Fae Adams. "You stay."

"Of course I stay!" Vaschel scoffed, sitting at the edge of the bed next to the spellcaster, bottle in one hand, the other resting lightly on the woman's knee. "I'm a gentleman!"

Beaming, Fae tilted her head back to kiss the blood knight's jaw. "And what's better, you don't expect me to cook for you in the morning!"

Having almost died at the poisonous ingestion of Fae's cooking once before, Vaschel forced a laugh. "Yeah, well… You don't have anywhere you need to be, do you?" he asked, setting a hand on Fae's shoulder. He started to push her back down, but she slid out of his grasp and off the bed before her back hit the comforter.

"Now, now! That would completely void all that time we spent getting dressed just a second ago! Besides, I told you last night, I have to go see my sister today!"

The holy warrior's eyes widened as if Christmas had come early. "You have a sister!?"

Carefully reinserting large, gold hoop earrings, Fae giggled in a ditzy, over-exaggerated way that took years to fully master: not so high-pitched as to be annoying, but just stupid enough to send the right message. "You, Ambassador Dauntlight, need to lay off the moonshine. I have two of them, but you wouldn't like them—they aren't loose."

"Right, right," Vaschel waved off the issue, pretending to remember. "You sure you don't want to—"

"Tonight," she cooed, bending to kiss the man's nose. "I promise."

Vaschel smirked vampirically, reaching up to grab her around the middle, but Fae saw it coming and dodged successfully. With a dainty wave, she disappeared through the open, billowing curtains of the Wayfarer's Rest Inn.

With an extremely displeasured grunt Vaschel fell back onto his hunches. With Fae gone, there really was no good excuse: phases one and two, writing Negate and drinking the night away, of Vaschel's plans were complete. Like it or not, it was on to stage three.

Daynha Highnoon's obnoxious, overbearing parents died in the third war, along with Daynha's only obnoxious, overbearing sibling. Since a series of petty disagreements over Daynha's class and profession caused a rift between herself and her family, every penny of the Highnoon's vast fortune went to Dawnn and, as he approached the man's front entry, Vaschel couldn't help but think with agitation that at a mere twenty-five years of age, the kid had a way bigger house than he _ever _had.

Shoving past curtains and kicking the walls along the hallways, Vaschel made a point to be as noisy as possible. "Dawnn! Heeeey! Dawnn!" and his efforts were rewarded almost instantly.

"Damnit, Vaschel," growled the younger as he appeared, pair of goggles resting atop his head. "I'm never going to finish your salt shakers if you're going to interrupt me."

With a cocky smile, the elder leaned against the wall, arms folded smugly over his chest. "Don't blame your lack of skill on me! If I'd known it was such an epic request, I wouldn't have bought you the thorium. I'd have taken my business elsewhere."

Dawnn was very much accustomed to this end of Vaschel's nature and ignored it. "What do you want?"

In response, Vaschel stood upright again and dropped all pretense, conveying the seriousness of the situation. "I came to ask you a favor—it's about Phasilica and—"

Dawnn cut him off with a harsh, maniacal laugh. "Well! Then you came to the wrong house." Dismissively, he turned and started for his work-bench once more, pulling his goggles back over his eyes.

"Damnit, will you at least listen to the request _first?" _Vaschel asked, vein pulsing in his forehead as he followed his younger.

"I'm not about to lecture anyone," Dawnn answered, returning to his work with various pieces of heated metal. "I've always maintained that you and Negate can keep whatever foolish company you want—but I will have no part in it. You can't ask more of me."

With an eyeroll, Vaschel tossed his hair back and collected himself. "It's about Phasilica and _your mother._ She keeps pushing me to get rid of the priestess and if I don't, which I won't—couldn't, even—I think she'll try to do it herself."

"Yeah? That sounds accurate," Dawnn agreed, continuing his work and refusing eye contact almost disrespectfully.

"I'm afraid that if—" the elder began, but stopped abruptly as a door in the wall just behind them flung itself open and a dark-headed, impish little girl stood in its wake.

"Dawnn~!" Negatory called, "I don't want to bother you but—oh! Vaschel!" she gasped, covering her mouth. Scanning the situation, the way the two men stood, the way they both turned to her in surprise, she made an obvious deduction. "Eek! You're fighting, aren't you? Fine, fine, I'll ask later…" and before either could protest, she quickly shut herself away again.

If he was _angry_ before, Vaschel now found himself on the edge of _pissed off. _Grabbing the end of the small table, the elf threw it—and everything Dawnn had been crafting atop it—clear over.

Staring stupidly where his materials once lie, Dawnn slowly shifted his gaze up to Vaschel speechlessly.

"The hell is she still doing here!?" Vaschel demanded, knuckles white and dangerously close to the boy's face.

With a growl, Dawnn shoved the other's fists away, stepping back himself in the process. "By the light, are you jealous or something!? You left her with me yesterday, remember!?"

"I didn't tell you to keep her over night!" he returned, making a grab for Dawnn's shirt collar.

And to think all this time, the young knight was worried about _Negate. _Smacking Vaschel's hand away, Dawnn returned quickly with, "I didn't! I left her at my mother's—she came back this morning! Sun be praised, what on Azeroth has gotten into you!?"

Dawnn's words washed through Vaschel like water, and he cooled instantly. "Oh."

"Oh," Dawnn repeated with a heavy, sarcastic laugh. "All that hard work… and all you can say is 'oh'."

"Eh, you can start over," Vaschel waved off Dawnn's problems with equal disrespect. "I need you to listen to me right now, anyway…" he paused, waiting for the boy to refocus his attention, before going on more seriously, "Phasilica is leaps and bounds ahead of your mother. By the light, if you only knew how many times I had to pull all five-feet of that girl off of some huge, orcish warrior…" Vaschel grunted, rubbing his forehead with irritation at the mere memory.

Realization dawned on the younger's face. "Ah, I see. You think Daynha's going to get herself killed."

"Exactly," Vaschel agreed, not bothering to point out how bizarre he thought it was that the boy called his own mother by name. "I want you to talk to her for me."

"What? You think she'll listen to me?" Dawnn asked, shaking his head. "They can't fight inside the city, just tell your priestess that—"

"Tried it," Vaschel interrupted. "I'll ask Negate to try again, but… look, kid, it's for her own damn good."

"Fine, fine… but I really, really don't think she'll listen," Dawnn answered, kneeling to mend his once-expensive table.

Just a short distance away, little Negatory sat against the door she'd closed, separating herself from any violence but affording her an excellent vantage point for the audio. Giggling to herself, she wondered if Dawnn would be willing to convince Daynha to not kill Lisys, too.

*END CH9: LETTERS*

//LETTER: PHASILICA TO NEGATE

Dear Negate,

We are all relieved to hear from you; even Vaschel was beginning to worry.

I know that you will be very busy, so I will make this brief. Your sister is doing very, very well. She has shown no signs of fatigue nor anxiety. I am absolutely confident that this will _not _be a repeat of that day Vaschel and I were called away unexpectedly.

Write if you have a chance,

Phasilica

// LETTER: VASCHEL TO NEGATE

Dear Negate,

Haha, I knew you were okay the whole time! By the way, your sister told me the truth—you're stuck in Tirisfal Glades with an ugly girl! That's terrible!

If she's even remotely doable, I sent you something that might help! Heh heh…

Love,

Vaschel

(PS: There's this girl I hit a while back, I can't remember her name… it was like Anabel or Analise or Fabricate or something… anyway, it was awesome! I don't actually remember much, just that Phasilica had to revive me the next morning because she was so freaky! It was weird, my mana was low… anyway, I hear the girl's in your area! If you get a chance, I recommend it!)

//LETTER: NEGATORY TO NEGATE

(Excerpts)

[…] Please, please, please, please bring her back with you!? Pretty please! Pretty, pretty please? I never get to talk to other rogues, and I bet she's really nice, and I want to meet her! Pretty, pretty, pretty please!? I won't ask you for anything else ever again, I promise! […]

[…] What's this girl's name, anyway? […]

//LETTER: DAYNHA TO NEGATE

(Excerpt)

[…] And make sure you don't trust any of those undead girls, no matter how nice they might seem. Remember, if you get yourself in a bad situation, I can always come find you […]


	11. Chapter 10

//LETTER: EX TO JIBREEL

Jibreel,

I've asked around anyone who has access to records, and so far, no one has been cooperative. I wouldn't call it a wipe yet; I have every intention of persevering. Still, it will be a slow process. Plus, I'm afraid I've stirred the suspicions of some of the higher-ups.

In the meantime, I've also chatted with a visiting priestess who used to be a spiritual advisor and a head-doctor of sorts. She told me that your amnesia is completely psychological, probably trauma-induced. That you can't remember the bad may be a blessing, but if this Vaschel you're trying to recall is part of the good, it might be possible to remember him only.

Try this: before you rest, think back on the earliest happy memory you've got, then try to think of one before, and then one before. If things seem hazy, that's normal, just try to think in as much detail as possible. If you get to a point where you're really struggling, or your head hurts, stop there.

Also, if you ever want to have a conversation with an elf, skip Thalasian—it's just too complicated. Learn Orcish, it's all around more useful and most elves understand it since their break with the Alliance. I'm actually looking into some lessons myself.

[-several lines thoroughly scribbled out-]

Sincerely,

Ex

*BEGIN CH10: RESPECT*

//SET LOCATION: LORDAERON, 20 YEARS AGO

Surrounded by a warm, happy blur of trees, Vaschel Dauntlight finished the last of a pint, then tossed the empty bottle to the side with little regard for where it may land. If his sister had been present to witness the act, he would be in for a scolding, however, fortunately for him she'd gone ahead. Not that anything would have mattered much anyhow: he'd achieved the perfect high—loose, but not out of his head

Rachel was usually trashed by this time—not tonight, of course, but either way he preferred to keep at least somewhat alert out here, where everything was so unfamiliar. This did not mean that he never got out of hand, of course: he had committed six months of his life to the construction of a massive shelter that would also serve as a school and church. Certainly a man could take some leeway on the weekends?

Thankfully, this particular evening was not one for leeway, or the man would not have heard a tiny but desperate cry for help through the thick trees. In fact, semi-sober he wasn't even sure he'd heard it at first.

Cursing what he thought was merely his mind playing tricks, Vaschel turned back around in the direction of the sound, skimming the trees for any sign of the source. All at once, he turned toward some movement in the bushes just in time to watch two figures explode forth.

The first was a young girl, he reasoned no older than Daynha's son, with cropped copper-red hair, dressed like a little urchin. The second was a full-grown man with a likeness in his features that lead Vaschel to believe the pair related. His first inclination was that the child would not mind, and so her father was forced to chase her. The way the man stooped suddenly, however, upon the sight of Vaschel suggested that something was afoot; it was then that the holy warrior also caught sight of a bloody cut on the girl's forehead and what appeared to be blue-black marks on her arms.

Within the instant Vaschel bent to scoop up the child on instinct before she could run past, noting that she was a might thin. Then, facing the man, he started to pull his axe from his back. In all honesty he simply wanted to keep the man still until he could find a translator to ask questions—he wasn't completely sold on the idea that he meant the child harm; in fact, if the wretch had simply held is ground and lied, the elf would have believed him.

But instead, the coward faded back into the shadows as the guilty do when faced with the possibility of prosecution.

"What the hell?" Vaschel muttered, searching hard through the darkness, but it was hardly any use. Even worse, the unfavorable lighting combined with the drink meant he could recall little about the man, beyond that he looked slightly similar to the child.

When the human girl gave off a soft whimper, he turned his eyes downward to see that she was clutching his shirt in her tiny fingers with every ounce of her might.

"Oi, relax, eh?" Vaschel advised, _carefully _replacing the weapon on his back to free up his other hand, using it to pat her head. "I don't suppose that mean old man was trying to run off with you, was he?" He shifted her around to hold the girl on his hip, near the haft of his axe and away from the blade. Of course, this child could understand naught on account of the language barrier, but he found that children usually respond well to soothing—even if they didn't exactly understand.

With wide-eyed admiration, she simply nodded and rested her head on the elf's shoulder, with small, pale cheeks flushing a deep red. All at once her fear abandoned her, and even the cut on her forehead quit hurting. She did, in fact, have no clue what he was saying—but the language was pretty and she liked listening to it.

"Agh," exhaled the holy warrior, approaching the only finished room of their massive building project. "Humans are so cute when they're little like this! I wonder what happens when they get older."

Forcefully jerking open the door (it'd always been a little stiff) Vaschel was faced with his own sister, back to him as she faced another woman, a dark-headed priestess with silver-rimmed spectacles.

"Sorry I'm late, I—"

"Oooh, she's so cute!" Rachel squealed as her brother entered and shut the door.

"Yeah, isn't she?" Vaschel concurred sunnily, eyes shifting to the girl carefully, then back to his sister quickly. "We can't keep her, though."

"Focus!" demanded the priestess, calling the siblings' attention to herself. "Vaschel, I need you to sign this for me—and while you're at it, explain the child," she ordered, pointing a thin finger to a stack of papers.

To grasp the pen, he handed the small girl to Rachel, following direction. "What is this, anyway?"

"It outlines—IN WRITING," Rachel whispered, rolling her eyes, "the actions that will be taken next time she catches either of us drunk on the job. I had to sign one, too." Then, with a giggle, she added, louder, "She keeps squirming! You take her back—I think she likes you better."

"Yeah, sure," Vaschel answered, taking the child back into his arms.

"Now explain," insisted the priestess sternly.

"Have a little patience, will ya?" growled the holy warrior with a roll of his eyes. "I found her in the woods—I guess some sicko was trying to run off with her. Anyway, she seems okay now—I don't really know her name anything, I was hoping you could ask her?"

With an approving nod, the priestess moved around her desk and bent her knees to face the girl directly. "_What's your name, child? Do you live far?"_

The girl's head snapped to attention—this woman she could understand. "_Jibreel… I don't want to go home."_

"_And why is that?"_ pressed the stern matron.

"You suck at this," Vaschel snorted, patting Jibreel's head comfortingly. "You can't talk to kids with that tone, you're gonna scare her."

With a giggle and a nod of agreement, Rachel signaled for her brother to be quiet.

"_They're all… dead…"_ Jibreel mumbled, too young yet to mourn the finality of her own words, but old enough to recognize the condition upon sight.

"_It isn't polite to play tricks_," scolded the priestess, straightening her back to face Rachel. "Please take her to Priestess Toni—she is a short sprint from here for you. She should be able to get to the bottom of this whole affair before the girl's mother begins to worry."

"Sure," Rachel answered, taking the small child from her brother despite protestual squirming and hurrying out the door.

"Hm." Vaschel watched the door shut behind her. "Cute kid."

"You can follow up with her if you like," the priestess informed, circling the desk to return to her work. "Talk to Missus Toni in the morning."

"Thanks—I think I will."

// SET LOCATION: TIRISFAL GLADES, PRESENT DAY

Practically leaping from her resting place on the broken stairs of the ruined tower, Jibreel could scarcely contain her glee. It worked! It worked just as Ex said it would; she could recall just about everything: she met Vaschel Dauntlight at around the same time that she was orphaned—that was why he was repressed, despite his status as a positive presence in her life overall.

After rescuing her from that madman, whoever he was, she all but stalked the elf for a while in the way that little girls do their first crush, be it a teacher, an older brother's friend, or a tipsy paladin the girl couldn't even talk to. Still, he had always been patient with her—probably accustomed to children. For all she knew, he may have even had some.

"My first crush…" Jibreel muttered aloud, absent-mindedly reaching upwards to touch her hair. Ever since she'd lopped it all off boy-style, she couldn't quit running her fingers through, trying to become accustomed. "Possibly the only reason I took up the light anyway… I wonder if he's okay…" she wondered aloud.

Naturally, the consequences of the Third War on Quel'Thalas were common knowledge: a great many were killed. Paladins would have been rare among the high elves back then; so it was impossible to imagine that he could have—or would even wish to have—avoided the battle. And worse, the letter she'd taken from the warlock was not addressed to Vaschel, but merely made mention.

"Wonder if who's okay?" asked Ex, leaning against the crumbling doorway. "I asked around, everyone told me I'd find you resting here. I see you cut your hair, looks nice."

"Ex!" Jibreel started, straightening her back with a smile. "The hell are you doing here? I got your letter, but it didn't say anything about…"

"I didn't know I would be visiting, either," Ex answered, watching Jibreel carefully. It wasn't really like her to wake up smiling. "Actually, there's been a surprise promotion—you and I are being sent to the north tower, the watch post."

Shaking away the pleasure of her dream, Jibreel's smile faded. "So suddenly? But why?"

"Since those documents were stolen—"

Jibreel winced.

"—Captian Vachon has requested more fortification—I am to inform six others of their promotions as well."

"Hm," Jibreel picked up her sword, sheathing the blade with a sarcastic scowl, "Perhaps I should be thanking the undead wench and the demon consort."

"Don't say that," Ex snickered. "You haven't met the captain yet."

xwx

"By the sunwell," Negate groaned, clutching the pillow over his head tightly. "I've passed out in alleys every other weekend since I was fifteen. Why do _I _hurt?"

Hanging upside down on the opposite bed, Lisys gazed across at the elf wrapped in his tangle of blankets. "I'm not sure—maybe the undead don't get hangovers?" Lisys proposed. "Sorry… can I help?"

"No, it will go away shortly…" Negate grumbled, voice muffled by the pillows. "How was it?"

"So strange!" Lisys answered eagerly, quickly pulling herself to a sit. "You were different, too!"

"Do you remember much?"

"Mmmhm! You drank sooo much!" Lisys giggled, bouncing a little with excitement. "It was so much easier to talk—I must have asked you a hundred questions."

Somewhat concerned, Negate shifted his head out from beneath the pillow. "What did I tell you?"

"Lots of things! Umm, let's see… you like goldfish, hate green vegetables and mages, think adultery should be punishable by death, and you've got three gold rings you wear on your right hand, middle, ring, and pinky fingers! One is from your mother, one is from a girl named Adel, and one is from your sister who you raised yourself for the most part, but besides her you've got the alcoholic paladin friend, and the Forsaken named Phasilica, and then two Blood Knights that I should avoid when—" she stopped suddenly, abandoning her unnaturally giddy attitude for a more typical, shy demeanor.

"When what?" Negate groaned. His head hurt—he simply hadn't the energy to press.

"Well, you said…" Lisys stumbled, feeling suddenly clumsy and foolish. "…you said that, ah, you'd take me to see your city. Of course, you were drunk! So you didn't mean it."

Weakly, Negate reached out for the nightstand in between the beds. Lisys reached out quietly and pushed a glass of water into his hand.

"How do you know I didn't mean it?" Negate asked, finishing the water and allowing the empty glass to hit the floor.

Nervously, Lisys stood to retrieve it, running her finger around the rim. "Well, you were obviously kidding! You actually said…" she scowled a bit, "and I quote—I could go with you if I _showed you my boobs."_

Previously droopy with sickness, Negate's ears perked slightly with interest as he raised his head. A vampiric smirk tugged at his lips. "Well?"

"Well what?" Lisys questioned, lifting her eyes briefly to his, but lowering them again quickly. The elf's gaze made her shy.

"Did you?"

"Did I… show you—" Lisys mumbled with confusion before realization registered. "Of course not!" she gasped, losing her hold on the glass, then struggling to recapture it.

"You sure? You were drinking too," Negate reminded, his smirk only widening.

"Of course I am!" Lisys insisted feverishly, thankful for the thick leather straps partially concealing her face. "The nerve of you…"

"_The nerve of me…_" Negate mocked playfully, forcing himself up to a sit. "I bet you did."

"I didn't, and if you're sick, you should stay down," Lisys advised, crossing her arms over her chest subconsciously. Just as she was becoming accustomed to the revealing red leather top, Negate had to tease her and make her self-conscious all over again!

"No, I've wasted too much time already," the elf returned more seriously with a groggy stretch. "And I was serious—my sister pleaded with me for four pages to bring you back with me. I decided I'd offer well before we started drinking."

Pressing down her excitement, Lisys's natural smile broadened. "She… did? Four pages? Really? Just to meet me? But why!?"

"Because you're both rogues, and we don't know any others," Negate answered, deciding to leave out the paragraphs about suspected romance and other such nonsense.

Setting down the glass, Lisys picked up her dagger and sheathed it, preparing for another adventure-filled day. Inevitably, there would be dealings with The Scarlet Crusade—that was what the Dark Lady needed, and so Lisys would oblige. Still, it felt to her like nothing in the whole world could ruin her mood—unless, of course…

This was all too good to be true. And why shouldn't she be suspicious? After all, her luck had never been so good before. Mein shifting drastically again to nervous fear, she watched Negate straighten his robes for a hesitant moment before asking, quietly, "Negate… why are you being so nice to me?"

"What?" Likewise sheathing his own acolyte's dagger, he turned to lift his eyebrows at the Forsakenness. "What are you talking about? I am always quite generous."

"Right," Lisys exhaled, frustrated, yet determined. "But when we first met a couple days ago, you insulted me all the time; I really thought you wanted to get rid of me, but now you're inviting me to Silvermoon City with you… and you haven't said anything really mean for at least a couple of days now… and…" she let the sentence trail when she heard him sigh, finishing instead with, "I'm sorry, I don't mean to say I don't appreciate it."

"I've felt better," he answered suddenly, watching her seriously.

"What?" Lisys squeaked, shying away from direct eye contact as usual.

"Since we've been here, I've felt better. My sister has had a nervous anxiety since the Third War—to know she's okay has lifted a tremendous weight—that's why," he elaborated.

"Oh… I see, I'm sorry…" Lisys whimpered sympathetically, feeling guilty for even asking.

"Don't worry about it." Negate walked past her quickly, concealing a smirk. What he'd told her wasn't false—he did have valid reasons to be edgy—still, he couldn't help but admire his own smoothness. He'd rectified that situation without actually apologizing. "Ready to give that damn letter you _insisted _upon keeping to Yvette?"

"Yeah! Let's go!" Lisys cheered, hurrying along behind Negate all the way down the stairs. "I actually think I saw her around here the other day…"

"there," Negate pointed to a blonde undead with wild hair. "Before we head off to that stupid farm, we should visit trainers—we've been neglectful in urgency."

"But we've already a late start!" Lisys pointed out worriedly.

"At this rate, we'll certainly need to tack on another day regardless. Go ahead, don't worry about it."

Flashing the warlock a smile, Lisys turned in the direction he had pointed only to hesitate as she suddenly recalled the incident with Innkeeper Renee. She closed her eyes unhappily behind the leather as the vivid confrontation sprang to life again within her mind, but she regained confidence once more as she also recalled how her fear melted away when she hurried back to Negate. The elf was still nearby, and he would still be the next day, and the next day, and possibly the next day.

Before she realized it, her eyes were open and she strode easily to the letter's recipient, politely hailing her attention. "Excuse me?"

"Yes?" Yvette returned, gazing at the rogue suspiciously.

"I don't know if Coleman told you, but my friend and I were hired to take out the Agamands…"

Yvette's interest perked.

"And while I was up there, I found this. It says it's for you," Lisys finished as she produced the envelope.

Yvette took the letter from Lisys, tentative at first, but eager upon recognition of the handwriting. Tearing open the envelope, her empty eyes scanned the paper quickly, face forming a horrorstruck expression. "Oh… my poor Thurman!" she gasped before Lisys could inquire. "I begged him to leave Agamand Mills with me and my father, but his family loyalty was too strong! And I knew it! I just knew that Brand meant him harm!" clutching the paper to her chest, Yvette was a mix of fury and despair, near breathless with passion. "Curse this plague! And the Scourge!"

"Yvette…" Lisys whimpered hoarsely as the woman's words tugged hard at her heart. Though near strangers, Lisys had quite recently learned of her own loved one's loss to the Scourge. Heavy with sympathy, she reached out to touch the other woman's hands, but stopped short as her expression smoothed over and grew cold.

"But regrets are for the weak," she growled, a chill in her tone that matched her expression. "As a Forsaken, I have new goals and love is not one of them. I would thank you for delivering this letter, for I had wondered what happened to my past love. But that life is over. Forever."

Lisys drew her hands back to her chest, feeling her own face clear as the icy chill spread to her from Yvette like a viral disease. Inside, she felt sick and torn, half of her screaming with desire to beg Yvette not to give up on mortal emotion, while the other half would not dare interfere with the coping mechanics of another undead.

"Of course," she managed finally with a solemn nod before quickly returning to Negate. She said nothing, simply kept her head down and waited for him to lead the way, quietly thinking to herself. Could she ever let go of Missus Andy that way? Would she even want to?

xwx

"I'd say it's worth it," Jibreel shrugged, shifting her sword about. A change in post meant a change of weapons , and clothes. Of course, uniformity was essential to an organization such as the Scarlet Crusade, and various classes stationed in different locations were required to look a certain way. In fact, the standards were so strict that Jibreel was scolded upon arrival for cutting her hair. At the time it seemed pointless to mention that she'd cut it _before _her short notice of promotion, so she simply nodded and uttered 'yes, sir' no matter how degrading. Of course then it had angered her, but now, standing proud guard over the outpost, she felt quite prideful.

"You're kidding, right?" Ex scoffed, rolling his neck. "Korgal was better than this—you said so yourself."

Much to Ex's surprise, he and Jibreel were assigned to watch the rear of the ruined tower together, essentially alone. The site wasn't exactly romantic—a gloomy, gray tower housing the worst leader either had ever served stood behind them, with its connected harsh stone pathways below their feet. Directly in front of them was a gap in the wall surrounding the tower, which afforded a view just as unpleasant: a broken farm since overtaken by Scourge and wandering, vengeful spirits. Icing the cake, overhead was the typical Tirisfal Glades sky, a lamenting, tainted green. Still, it was nice to converse with her again—especially after a mere few days ago, he feared he would be rubbed out of her life.

"And I still feel that way, but this is a good rank. And, if we do well here, they may even move us up closer to our monastery," Jibreel returned stonily.

Ex sighed. "Right, good promotion. I wish you'd think about something else."

"What else is there? What happiness can I find while the bane of Azeroth roams freely in my homeland?" Jibreel questioned, knuckles tightening around the hilt as her voice steadily gained passion. "These pieces of shit _ate _Avarett, and now they seek only compassion and a way of life!? Hah! It shames me to think that they were once as human as you and I—surely you understand _now, _after your brother—"

"Don't mention him," Ex cut in sharply. "I understood before."

A sudden darkness passed over the crusader's face and she stood abruptly, turning her head up towards the sick, green sky. "I apologize. I guess it's true, what they say—that I'm very cold. I should have known that was still an open wound," she muttered.

Ex's own mood changed drastically as he watched her, to whom he was so devoted, avoid his gaze in guilt. So she was remorseful after all—a huge weight off his shoulders. And yet, the relief did little to over-shadow the dread that she should suffer.

"Jibreel… look… my brother was a corrupt asshole who would have sold me out for a copper, I hated him, don't—"

"But he was your brother," Jibreel cut him off, keeping her expressionless face skyward. "There must be some family loyalty."

Shifting a wood staff to his back, Ex stood quickly, wrapping his arms around her waist from behind. "Hey," he whispered, fingering the tough red mail-leather mix that now clothed her torso, "I don't want you to worry about it, honest. I just don't like talking about him—that's all."

Seizing his hands with a ferocity that surprised the mage, Jibreel first thought to push him off of her, but hesitated. Thinking better of it, she slid her fingers in between his and tilted her head back, kissing along his jaw quietly.

"H- hey," he exhaled, rubbing her palms with his thumbs. "Now? Out here?" but it was utterly useless. As always, any promises he'd made to himself were thrown out in light of any excuse to be close to her.

"Sorry, I thought you liked this sort of thing," she answered heartlessly, starting to pull away again.

Breath short, Ex replied on instinct while an internal battle consumed the whole of his actual mental capacity. "That's not it, I…" Without thinking, he turned her around by the shoulders and, placing his hands on either side of her face, he leaned forward and pressed their lips hard together.

She responded in kind, wrapping her arms around his neck, sinking easily to the ground beneath him. When his kisses trailed to her neck, she tilted her head back and helped his hands fined the new straps and buckles on her armor. She made everything easy, and Ex detested it.

The stress was vicious: he could not bring himself to resist her, but at the same time his head was screaming. _We're not exclusive, you don't love me, tell me no, you have to respect yourself more than this, it isn't right, say no, say no, say no…_

"Jibreel!" like a knife, the thick, angry note of none other than Captain Vachon cut through their tranquil surroundings like a sharp sword. The pair first froze like guilty children, then scrambled to right their disheveled appearances.

"Jibreel!" the call sounded again, anger mounting within his voice.

Standing quickly, the holy warrior smoothed her shortened locks. "Sorry—I'll make up for this later," she muttered, then hurried around for the front of the tower.

"No, Jibreel, you don't have to—damnit," Ex growled, pulling himself to his feet as well. "That girl…"

As she rounded the corner, the young paladin stopped short, nearly running directly into the Captain. As if she wasn't in enough trouble already.

"Watch where you're going!" Vachon barked. A middle-aged man with red hair and full mail armor, plus a shield and at least one friar in his attendance at all times, he evidently thought himself light's gift to the Scarlet Crusade. "I have been calling for you. What on Azeroth took you so damn long?"

"I apologize," Jibreel answered stonily, but with the proper respect due to her superior—regardless of how she despised him. "My focus was too strong."

"Yes, I'm sure," Vachon snickered, turning back toward the tower entrance. "I need a word with you."

"Sir?" Jibreel followed her captain nervously. Certainly she was not in trouble so soon?

"Janelle, leave us," the captain demanded of the tower's only inhabitant, a young friar, save he and Jibreel herself. "I need a word alone with Miss Crysys."

"Yes, sir," Janelle replied, watching Jibreel with sympathy as she respectfully departed.

Since the wooden doors of the watch tower had long since rotted away, Captain Vachon pulled Jibreel beneath the old rotting stairs for privacy.

"I've been told you were orphaned," the Captain informed disrespectfully, moving straight to the point.

Surprised by his brusque manner, Jibreel was almost slow to reply. "I… Yes, that's true," she answered darkly. Her family history was hardly anyone else's business but her own. How was it getting around anyway?

As if sensing her mistrust, a confident smirk passed over the Captain's features. "Mr. Xanthic had been asking around record keepers."

Instinctively, she cast a glance to the back wall, where she knew Ex stood a short distance on the other side. "Mm, that's right, isn't it? I never thanked—" she cut off her sentence abruptly as the captain's gloved hand seized her chin, almost violently, turning her face forcefully to his. "Sir?"

"I've got access to these things, you know," he informed sharply, then smoothing over his tone, he continued in a whisper, "I'm picky, you know—but perhaps if you grew your hair back out, in a few month's time, we could help one another out? Janelle is nice, but I've always liked paladins…"

"I—what?" Jibreel pulled her face from his grasp, stunned.

"Captain Vachon, sir!" sounded the nervous voice of a pale youth, Mevin Korgal's replacement: a messenger.

Irritation clear in his features, the Captain turned. "What is it?" he demanded. "I'm busy."

"Sir," the man—or boy, was probably more accurate—saluted stiffly, "there was another massacre at the farms—this time, several good warriors were slaughtered."

Jibreel clenched her fists. "By whom!?"

"Miss Crysys!" Vachon snarled, "do not speak out of turn! Antoni, continue."

With an irritated growl, Jibreel held her antsy silence, though really her question did not require answering. Call it intuition.

"A woman, certainly undead," the boy explained, shivering suddenly as if nervous, "notably disfigured. They say she stepped out of the shadows like a rogue, it sounded terrifying."

"Coward," the Captain spat. "Go on."

"Ah, well, the other just appeared as a living elf…" the messenger answered, doubly self-conscious.

Jibreel could feel her blood boil—so it was them after all, and she missed them! Every ounce of her wanted desperately to locate the pair and settle an old score, but she had to serve her Captain. Unless, of course…

"Fool!" Vachon shouted, drawing his sword and advancing upon the young messenger. "Are you not aware that powerful necromancy can make the dead appear just as the living!? Or are you arm-in-arm with the devils!?"

"Sir," Jibreel shouted, interrupting her superior's swing. "Request to reassume my post? I believe the pair will venture here, next."

Vachon turned his suspicious gaze to her next. "What evidence have you?"

"Common sense," she answered almost testily, then, checking herself, she continued respectfully, "as you know, I was assigned as Meven Korgal's bodyguard as he carried our orders to the camp next to the ruined town in the mountains… and I failed. Sir, I have every reason to believe that your name was included in those orders. They will come here. I want to be ready."

"Very well. I expect you will redeem yourself," Vachon returned without much thought. "We will continue our conversation later. Send Janelle in on your way out, and we shall deal with this traitor," he pushed his sword against the young messenger's neck, "as is fitting."

Feeling honest pity for the poor boy, Jibreel walked past them to resume her post and tell Ex the good news.

xwx

"Actually, this one I stole for you," Lisys mumbled, handing Negate a plump, round pumpkin she'd swiped from the farm. "The Scarlet Crusade farmstead is the only place I know of that can still grow untainted food, and the way we've been running around, you'll run out… And I'm certain you don't want to starve or get sick…"

As the two strode into town, Negate shoved the vegetable in his bag. "Thank you. I'm honestly thirstier than hungry, though."

"Well, we can buy water from Miss Winters before we head off to kill—oh, what was his name again… Captain something…"

"Vachon, Captain Vachon," Negate reminded with a smirk. What would Lisys do without him? "Is that her? Miss Winters?"

"Mmhm," Lisys nodded, gesturing towards a woman with long hair wearing a sky blue belly tank top and long, cream-colored skirt. "She's a sweet woman."

Negate studied her for a moment before nodding in agreement. "I like her." Then, before Lisys could protest, he strode breezily forth to ask Miss Winters's chest for some water.

"Ah, that man," Lisys mumbled, putting a hand to her forehead. "Are all elves so lusty? He's always—"

"Looking at other women? He won't respect you if you let him get away with that," Eliza Callen giggled, creeping up behind Lisys so that when she spoke, the poor nervous Forsakenness was quite startled.

"Oh! Eliza…" she gasped, placing a hand over her chest. "You about started my heart."

"That's what I'm talking about," Eliza set her hands on her hips. "You're far too timid. Most guys like a girl that can stand up for herself—and the guys that don't aren't worth your time."

"Ah, right. Eliza, I think you really got the wrong idea," Lisys exhaled, subconsciously moving to rub at the skin adjacent to the straps concealing her face. It hurt her, bad. "We're just traveling together. That's all."

"The wrong idea? Really? But you were drinking with him last night, weren't you? All alone in an inn?" Eliza asked, voice heavy with confusion. "That sounds to me like—"

Lisys clapped both hands over her mouth, empty eyes opening until her brow ridges were visible over the leather straps. "Oh! When you say it like that, it sounds--! Like--!" embarrassment surged through her cold veins as she shook her head vigorously. "That's not how it was at all! I just, I've never been drunk before and—"

"You hadn't!?" Eliza gasped, casting a hateful glare at the elf as he approached. "What a jerk! Taking advantage of you like that! Oh, I should have known he would be no good! The living rarely are!"

"Excuse me?" Negate questioned as he ventured within earshot, flask of water in hand. "Lisys, who is your friend?"

A sickly feeling stirred Lisys's insides. She had a feeling that this would not go well. "Ah, Negate, surely you remember Eliza Callen, the leather merchant. She fixed my old armor, then sold this little red number to me…"

Negate recognized the plump set of lips and thick leather face straps quickly. "Ah, yes, I recall. I didn't realize you were close."

"Damn right we are!" Eliza growled, assuming an offensive stance. "And as her friend, I demand an apology! How dare you use someone so clearly pure and innocent at your own convenience?"

"Ah…Eliza, we're close?" Lisys questioned, head whirling.

"Excuse me?" Negate demanded, lifting both elegant eyebrows in challenge.

"You heard me! Getting poor little Lisys tipsy just so you could have a look at her. You disgust me!" Eliza hissed, spitting at the elf's feet.

Negate took a step back, clearly not amused. "I beg your pardon! Are you spying on us? Even if there was merit to this rubbish, I'd venture to say it's none of your damn business!"

"No merit!?" Eliza scoffed. "She came and told me herself last night! Poor thing works so hard to make you happy, and what do you do but demand she _expose herself? _Now it's one thing if you're together, but--! Oooh, I should deck you! You think innocence is a common trait around these parts!? She's probably the only ounce of humanity left in the entire Forsaken population! Who are you to corrupt her!?"

"Never you mind who I'm corrupting!" Negate hissed, then turned his nose skyward indignantly. "Lisys, we haven't time for this—we need to take care of Captain Vachon before it gets dark." Then, expecting her to follow, he turned on his heels and started out of the city.

"Don't follow him." Eliza demanded, crossing her arms. "You're probably safer with me."

"I apologize, Eliza—I'll explain later, okay? But I really have to…" Lisys half-whimpered, then dashed after the dark-headed warlock. "Listen, Negate, I apologize… I'll set her straight later, but—" she paused as the elf began to laugh. "What?"

Still snickering, Negate brushed a loose strand of hair away from his face. "I knew you couldn't resist me."

"What?" Lisys started, feeling a headache coming on. "What are you talking—augh! No!" shaking her head violently, the pitiful undead clapped her hands over her scalp. "I know what you're thinking—and you better quit it! Eliza only confirmed that you _asked, _I never showed you anything!"

//SET LOCATION: SILVERMOON CITY, ONE YEAR AGO

Blackness consummately enveloped Phasilica's tiny bedroom as the curtains were closed so tightly that even the blinding lights of the new city, built on volatile magic, could not penetrate. The idea was to leave the undead blind, so that not even unpleasant hallucinations could appear clearly to her. This night it worked, and her mind was as dark and as blank as the perceived negative space around her until a heavy knock at her door snapped her awake.

Though still quite sleepy, she sat perfectly erect almost instantly. "Who is it?"

With little regard for the personal space of other's as usual, Vaschel threw open the door. "Phasilica! Thank God you woke up, listen, I—"

She narrowed her eyes suspiciously—the paladin displayed full plate armor. "What's going on?"

"That's what I'm trying to explain," Vaschel answered testily, pulling his heavy shield off of his back as to lean against the doorway. "All rumors have been confirmed. The Sun King himself is jacked up in the head, ran off with M'uru."

Very mild surprise registered across Phasilica's face as she climbed out of bed, pulling on a heavy robe; not to say her night gown was not modest, but she'd always been a head-to-toe dresser. "My sympathies. Where exactly does that leave you?"

"That's a good question," Vaschel mumbled seriously, shifting his shield around. "I haven't felt any break with the light… and neither have Dawnn, or Daynha. I don't really understand it myself. Anyway, I don't really have a lot of time. Lady Liadrin is in Outland to make amends, but, just in case, I want to hurry."

"You mean you're going after Prince Sunstrider?" Phasilica questioned. "Very well, I'll inform the Voidbreaker's in the morning."

"Actually, that's not what I'm here for," Vaschel confessed, tossing his hair back almost nervously. "I--… come with me."

Phasilica hesitated for a few seconds, giving him ample time to revise or retract the statement. Finding he was serious, she answered, quite flatly, "No."

"But—" Vaschel began, but Phasilica cut him off.

"I'm not a healer anymore. Ask someone else," she hissed before he could utter any protest.

"Ugh, I've got those," Vaschel growled. "That's not what I'm after. Listen for a second, will ya? I don't need you for that—or even damage, I…" he paused to suck in air, forcing his words with great difficulty, "I want direction. Kael'thas isn't undead, and not exactly my forte. Besides, I'll be working with strangers—a couple trolls, even, and I don't trust them. I… come on, please?"

Phasilica sighed, casting her gaze downward, then back to the elf. "How long will this take?"

"Hell if I know—maybe several days just to get to the son of a bitch," Vaschel shrugged. "Come on, I'm begging—and we're leaving soon, I don't really have time to wait."

Just as the undead was about to accept, her nerve just short of broke. Days? "Under one condition," Phasilica insisted more strongly than she realized.

"Fine, what is it?" Vaschel asked eagerly, standing upright and replacing his shield on his back, ready to go.

"You stay sober the whole time."

"Uh--!?" Vaschel took a step back, open surprise on his face. Surely the woman didn't realize what she was asking. "Phasilica, the first time I got smashed, I was ten years old. It won't work, I won't even _function—"_

"You'll function fine," the priestess smirked. "Tell these 'strangers' to wait just a moment more." And with that, she shut the door in the paladin's face.

Vaschel stared at the wood in stunned silence for a long moment before turning to exit the loft swiftly, head bowed. This was going to hurt him—literally _hurt _him. But the affront the Prince had committed to the Blood Knights could not go ignored, and he should have to pay. It was worth it to have her along.

*END CH10: RESPECT*


	12. Chapter 11

*BEGIN CH12: CLASH*

//SET LOCATION: The Acherus

At such high altitudes as The Acherus resided, the air would cease to circulate and simply hang instead, so heavy and cold that it froze the moister in Saiynt's throat even before she could exhale. Every respiration expelled a beautiful array of crystalline white then illuminated by the harsh blue glow of dead, unholy eyes.

For the most part she was alone, with the exception of the occasional patrolling abomination, to bask in the heavy presence of the Lich King. The feeling was unlike anything else: no matter where in the world she was, she could feel Arthas entwined deeply within her mind and soul, but here where death and sin were the driving forces of existence and the light was so far away, it was especially intoxicating. The only way the black knight could describe the elation was to compare the sensation to blood-letting, a common practice among the young, mischievous men who were too poor to afford alcohol when she was little, and of course, before she got herself arrested.

Feeling a might dizzy, Saiynt laid back against the hard stone wall with a heavy sigh, watching tiny ice shards dance from between her lips to flirt with the air, twirling and mixing over the rise and fall of heavy breasts and exposed cleavage. "I love the Scourge…" she whispered hotly, closing her burning eyes.

Intermingling with her own heavy breathing, she could faintly hear a class of frost disciples to her left, and to her right a class of blood: both disciplines different from her own but no less fascinating, adding to her excitement. Saiynt found herself gripping the knees of plain, black cloth trousers she wore at current, while assigned to no particular task, but she released them and relaxed at the approach of heavy footfalls.

"Daymn, what, he send you outa town?" she questioned, running her tongue over her lips. "I was starting to get lonely."

Sihner stole a spot beside her quietly, refusing to dignify the question with an answer. If she was so determined not to deal with the elves, she'd have to learn to be patient while he handled them.

Opening her eyes, Saiynt squirmed closer to the other, laying her face against the cold, hard plate covering his chest. "Everything heuh is do daymn tortured…" she muttered, rubbing her cheek into him. "Makes me feel… _affectionate." _

Sihner wordlessly wrapped his arms around the much smaller knight, pulling her to sit between his knees as he leaned back against the wall. "You should not be so unfocused."

"Well gee, thanks for the advice, Mistah!" Saiynt retorted sunnily, pulling the glove off of his right hand to run her fingers over his palm.

"Saiynt," he growled low in his throat, narrowing his eyes at the back of her head behind thick leather. Between them, they had enough enemies within their own ranks that foolishness, such as lounging around by herself, unarmored and half asleep, could see her killed.

"Saiynt," she mocked with a growl of her own, raising his fingers to her lips to playfully chew at the tips of bones. "C'mon, mistah, own't kill my buzz! Play with me!"

Tossing aide concern (which was ultimately useless anyway) he wrapped his free arm around her middle and drew her back, closer against him. "Fine, what game?"

Saiynt pulled his fingers out of her mouth with a delighted smirk, setting his hand on her inner thigh. Mischievously, she curled his fingers in the fabric one by one. "I own't suppose I could convince you to finger me?" she requested shamelessly.

"In the hall? Mm. You might have to beg me," he returned Icily, pushing lightly on the small of her back whilst tugging on the fabric.

"You know I will," she cooed darkly, rising up on her knees and arching her back obediently to wrap her arms around his neck from behind her. "Mistah, please?" she whimpered quietly.

No sooner did the lightless knight pull his lover's trousers around her knees than did a sort of sixth sense trigger and he had to replace the cloth again with an angry grunt. The master wanted a word.

Saiynt disengaged herself from him, rising to her feet. "Hmm… interesting timing… aw, don't look like that!" she cackled at the first real emotion Sihner had displayed in weeks. "Ya should be flattered! 'Ow many guys can say they been cockblocked by the fucking _Lich King, _nah?"

Sihner stood wordlessly and started down the hall, past the blood disciples, brooding as usual. Saiynt trotted along behind him, suddenly misleadingly quiet. Without fail, her demeanor would change dramatically any time the corrupt king summoned her. On some level this bothered Sihner, like a thorn in the base of his skull, but in other ways the determination was probably to her benefit.

//SET LOCATION: TIRISFAL GLADES

Lisys made a point to walk very close to Negate, jumping at every little noise. "Why must it be so dark already?"

Her partner glanced to their right, where the sun hung very low in the sky. "We can kill some darkhounds on the way back for Apothecary Johann, but otherwise I'd say Vaschon is our last quest for today. We'll wrap up whatever work is left in this town tomorrow."

Lisys beamed. "Already!? Oh, so close! Can't we walk a bit faster?" the eager Forsakenness hurried forward, rushing ahead of the elf only to fall back with a surprised yelp as a darkhound jumped from the bushes, teeth bared and snarling.

With a wicked snicker, Negate sent Jublop on the demon and bent to help Lisys stand. "My, aren't we jumpy?"

She reluctantly took his hand, sucking in a deep breath as the ends of her fingers made contact with the back of his palm. It was a struggle for her to behave normally while everything inside of her wanted desperately to bury herself in his arms, but she checked her desire with ferocity knowing that she might die of embarrassment if he ever learned what his warmth did for her. Using his arm to pull herself to a stand, Lisys suppressed longing to keep his hand in hers as long as possible. "Th- thank you," she stumbled as he pulled back. "I guess I'm nervous—never been this far from home before."

"I should be the nervous one here," Negate scoffed indignantly, turning his nose skyward. "We're a hundred times farther from Silvermoon, and I'm stuck in the midst of horrendous looking things like you."

"Yeah, I guess that's true," Lisys mumbled thoughtfully, jumping soon after in surprise as Jublop reared his ugly head.

"I killed it!" the demon screeched despondently. "Am I dismissed?"

"Unholy shadow," Lisys squeaked, placing a hand over her chest. "When did you summon him?"

"Quite some time ago; he's simply been quieter than we are accustomed. The tower should be just up this way," informed the elf, beginning the hike up a rather steep hill. "Jublop and I came to an understanding back at the Mills."

"Oh, I'm glad to hear it," Lisys beamed down at the small imp as he climbed along behind them. In turn, Jublop treated her to a nasty look, but did not comment.

This particular section of Tirisfal Glades, just south west of the Scarlet Monastery, was not particularly scenic. The region was not so flat as the majority of the area, either: in fact, steep hills and jagged cliffs dominated this north-eastern corner of the territory. That alone made the location seem tenfold as foreign to Lisys, but she made a hard point not to mention it again.

Pulling himself up over the edge of the drop, Negate stiffened slightly. "Well… here we are," he muttered quietly.

Lisys was quick to follow suit. "Why are you whisper—" she let the sentence drop, however, as a quick glance to the right revealed the old, ruined tower guarded by no less than five crusaders within plain sight, and many more likely hid in and around the tower. "Oh… oh my…"

"Don't be scared," Negate ordered in a harsh whisper, grabbing her wrist firmly in his hand before the Forsakenness could accidentally retreat right over the side of the cliff they'd just climbed. "You've fought these bastards before, remember?"

Lisys unwittingly put her hand over his on her wrist, partially distracted from her fears. "But those were just stupid farmers, the last real encounter, that wench cut you…" she mumbled unhappily.

"And it healed, didn't it?" Negate reminded calmly, setting his free hand atop her hand atop his hand atop her wrist. "The chances we'll run into her are slim, don't worry about it."

"Ha!" shouted a distinctly human voice from behind the pair, signaling they had been discovered. "Ras garde hamerung nud nud Hir bur dana bor!" Without hesitation the man charged at them, in the way that the Scarlet Crusade will, without regard for the fact that he was clearly outnumbered.

"Okay," Lisys exhaled, jerking free her dagger. Converting her fear to nervous energy, she made a solemn vow to herself: this would not turn out as it had in Deathknell.

xwx

"The sun's going down," Jibreel hissed suddenly, breaking what had been a near hour-long silence. "Our shift's about over—they'll trade us out!"

Ex laughed lightly at the clear outrage in the holy warrior's voice. "Perhaps you're wrong—maybe those two won't come through here after all."

Jibreel chewed her fingernails with nervous agitation, suddenly unable to keep still. "No, they will. I know they will. It's just a matter of when—goddamn! I wish I wasn't stuck in the back," she growled, clenching and unclenching her fists, "I belong out front, guarding the captain—why won't Vachon let me switch places with Janelle?!"

"It isn't obvious?" Ex snorted, shaking his head. "Besides, someone has to watch the rear or they could catch the front by surprise. We're just as important back here."

"Unless the arrogant little pricks simply attack from the front to begin with," Jibreel countered, pacing behind Ex. "I can't stand waiting! We're moments from sundown!"

"But you haven't a choice," Ex reminded with compassion. "And you can pace all you want—it won't make them come any faster."

Pausing, Jibreel nodded her head in ascent with a sigh. In an attempt to quell her excitement she leaned quietly against the nearest stone wall, but found she was unable to turn her mind away from the pair. A logical fighter, Jibreel knew the Forsaken meant the Scarlet Crusade, and likely every other faction, intense evil. After stealing that list, why wouldn't they come for the post leaders? It only made sense… but the elf, what of the elf? What was his motivation?

"Ex?" she questioned, again standing upright.

"Mmhm?"

"Is it true that a powerful necromancer can make the undead look just like the living?" she questioned in a low, quiet voice. Naturally, such speculation could easily see herself or Ex convicted of treason and left for dead. "He seemed to be quite alive to me…"

"Hm, hardly matters. Warlocks are cheap, anyway, and they associate with demons—hardly fitting to the new world order we're striving toward. Even if he is still alive, he is offensive."

"I suppose so," Jibreel agreed, running her fingers through her hair. "I never really saw a warlock before him—Avarett usually kept me away from things like that. How someone could possibly behave so comfortably in the presence of those wicked things is a mystery to me."

"Easy, they're all dark-hearted," Ex returned casually. He opened his mouth to elaborate more, but stopped suddenly at the sound of rushing, uneven footfalls.

As fast as his wounded legs could carry him, one of the male guards from the front of the tower hurried toward the pair. He was a wretched sight: blood poured from a deep hole between his shoulder blades, slithering down the back of his legs to leave a heavy, metallic-red trail behind him, while from the front his body had clearly been torn apart, mercilessly, with a dull knife; crueler still, some such wounds had been medievaly cauterized with flame. The wounded man gasped and wheezed noisily as cursed agony squeezed his organs like a vice, so much that as the pair examined his exposed chest, they could see the flex of his tortured insides, bulging and convulsing beneath his skin.

This man was not going to live but a second longer. In an instant the holy warrior dashed toward him to call for help, but he stopped her easily, both well aware it was too late. The best he could do was deliver warning.

"Vachon," he forced, voice cracked and sick. "We're honor-bound… to protect…" he managed before the man's suffering ended abruptly.

Jibreel was quick to catch the body as it fell, closing his eyes gently with the opposite hand. "Rest…" she whispered quietly, laying him peacefully on the stone. "I will take it from here," she mumbled low in her throat, tilting her head back as she stood with renewed, powerful resolve. In the same instant she dashed off, leaving a surprised Ex to scramble after her.

In her urgency she completely disregarded any thoughts for subtlety, heart pumping heavy as she ducked beneath a fallen support beam and skidded to a stop around the front of the tower. The sight infuriated her: It was the Soliden Farm all over again. Bodies littered the ground, strewn across her field of vision: the motive was clear. They would murder their way into the tower.

A quiet sound drew her attention to her immediate right, where the very same warlock she'd split open in the old, ruined town bent over, stealing a few copper from the unfortunate body of one of her very colleagues.

Standing, the elf turned from one side and then to the other, a puzzled expression overtaking elegant features. "What? … ah, damn, where's Lisys?"

"Perhaps she's lying at the base of that hill," Jublop snickered, pointing with a thin claw towards the rocky drops to their right, "and she desperately needs our help, but we will not find her until it's too late?" he offered.

Negate frowned deeply down at the impudent creature. "Do you have something to tell me?" he demanded, but before the imp had a chance to reply, the overzealous battle cry of a Crusader brought his attention forward and slackened his jaw slightly: what were the odds of running into that stone cold face again?

Except it wasn't; not exactly. The girl he'd dealt with in Death Knell had cut her hair, upgraded to heavier mail armor, traded in her dagger for a sword, and shifted demeanor to accommodate for a much, much stronger resolve. She'd progressed right along with he and Lisys.

What was more, she did not come alone. As she rushed towards him, he noted a blonde mage behind her. Though he could not be certain, Negate assumed he was the same as the man who had saved Jibreel's life during their first encounter, just after Meven Korgal met his demise.

"Master?" Jublop snickered, awaiting instruction as the woman approached, sword drawn.

The elf put his right hand forward and drew his dagger with his left, wrapping thick but agile fingers firmly around the hilt. Through the lens of focus, the entire world appeared differently; a much darker place. All around him, Azeroth was teeming with magic of every type and affiliation, and the fel, his specialty, leapt towards him bringing an unnatural but anticipated plea for manipulation, to which he responded appropriately. Expertly shifting lights and colors around his fingers as if they were a tangible force, he found a center within the lightful warrior and introduced a deep, hard-hitting passion of his own design: pure, simple _agony_.

Reaching the warlock in the actual space of seconds, Jibreel swung her sword hard in the beginning, but a foreign stake through her heart caused the end result to hit substantially weaker than she had intended. Unaccustomed to battling spellcasters, the intense suffering gripping the soft, fleshy muscle in her chest dully unsettled her. It wasn't the same as a cut, where the drain of life could be slowed by the simple application of cloth, but more horrendous. This man was capable of slaughtering her insides like a cancer or a disease.

Negate smirked; so she was still wet behind the ears, after all. Cocky enough to turn away, he faced Jublop as he implanted a black seed of corruption in the base of her skull, unleashing the unholy hell that was shadow within the crusader. "Try to keep the mage out of my hair," he ordered the little imp, taking a step back as he forced his fingers into Jibreel's soul next.

With a wicked cackle, the imp jumped and somersaulted to his assigned target, screeching with delight as he raised his tiny hands to pull a fire bolt between them.

Ex, whom was preparing to intervene, was so startled by the creature that he jumped slightly, losing the frostbolt he'd been collecting. With a yelped "Ah!" he landed again, staring wide-eyed at the creature.

"What kind of ungodly beast has such an annoying cackle!?" he asked, staring-wide eyed at the imp's smirk, even in the face of the red-hot energy between its hands. "It's voice is so jarring! What hell hole could it have possibly crawled from?"

Without reply, the imp hurled the conjured flame directly into the mage's face, critically singeing the poor fellow without mercy.

Ex was hurled over backwards with a helpless flail and another cry, frantically wiping at burnt eyelashes and eyebrows. Pointedly making his recovery brief, he sat up quickly to face the creature, now smirking with delight. "So you're a demon," Ex snarled, clenching his fists. "And you think this is funny, hm?"

Cackling in the same manner as before, Jublop raised his hands to charge another, doing some sort of eerie jig with its feet.

Ex mashed the imp in the side of the head with his staff, sending it sprawling. Then he stood, charging a frost bolt between his own hands before the thing could recover. "I will send you back to the hell hole from which you crawled," he hissed angrily, "then send your master on after you!"

Jublop climbed to his feet with a growl, sick to death of being kicked around, literally. He prepared to light a fire under Ex's ass, but the frost bolt was quicker, and another mash with the staff delayed his casting. It did not take long for the imp to lose count of the frost and fire blasts that had wracked his little body. It was only a matter of moments before thick defeat oozed through the creature's brain as he collapsed backwards, his physical body fading. He was not fond of Negate, but they had entered a deal and Jublop regretted the inability to follow orders just a little longer.

"Obnoxious little shit," Ex hissed, snarled before shifting his attention to the warlock. His mana was wanting, but mattered not: between he and Jibreel, this fight was about to turn around.

Negate had since frayed the edges of the holy warrior's soul and pulled the strings as if from a rug within his mind's eye. The thievery manifested itself physically in the form of a long, purple light, like a wave, flowing erratically between his palm and her chest. To him, it seemed uneven that he should know paladins so well, while she was severely lacking in knowledge on his type, but such was the bane of a sheltered life.

Jibreel swung her sword with renewed confidence despite her failing health. The feeling was surreal: her soul was draining out of her body and into the man's hands, like finger nails or a sharp instrument scraping around on her insides, while the curse of agony laid upon her earlier shifted and squeezed her organs, immediately recognizable as the same haunting evil that had been forced onto her colleague.

The strike sliced open his shoulder, causing him to momentarily lose his track while he switched arms, but almost relentlessly he picked the draw up again, laughing cruelly.

Nearly delirious with anguish, Jibreel took two staggering steps backward, pressing her breath hard in and out of her chest. In some ways, she just wanted out of this battle and away from this torture, by whatever means necessary. The dying gasps of her comrade, "we are honor bound to protect," seemed so far away from her now, and took a tremendous force of will to keep rooted in her mind. This last-ditch reminder was all that kept her feet rooted, all that prevented her from running, and to release it now would be foolish.

These steps back brought her within view of the tower's broad, rotten door, and therefore within the eye line of Captain Vachon and his personal attendant, Friar Janelle. Having attended this man since the infancy of the Scarlet Crusade, Janelle was alarmed by Jibreel's condition, and then dully alarmed by the Captain's lack of reaction. As irritating as his grossly sexist antics were, she had always admired the Captain for the ferocity with which he would protect the fairer sex in his charge—so why did he stand idle at present?

Wordlessly she stretched a hand to replenish some of the harm this elf had caused her colleague, but Vachon was quick to smack her arm back to her side.

"Do not interfere," he demanded, voice hard and so loud, she was startled the battle was not interrupted. "We will see if she can turn this around on her own."

Completely unaware of anything but himself and his victim, Negate was unable to resist the urge to taunt. "I am going to kill you and use you as a reagent," he snickered, heartless expression heightened in the backdrop of the purple glow. "How embarrassing."

Though she could not understand the words he spoke, the very tone in his voice wretched her insides harder than any spell he could place. What kind of sick person could enjoy, nay, contribute their livelihood to the pursuit of instilling pain in others? Now she understood what Ex meant when he told her that warlocks were naturally dark-hearted.

"You will not win this one!" Jibreel growled, drawing on the light intertwined with the very soul the warlock was looking to steal. Like a hammer to the base of his skull the elf's stream of consciousness found itself interrupted and the beginnings of a purple crystal-like stone that had been forming in his hand suddenly exploded into nothing. Almost simultaneously, a dart of pure chill infected his veins and hardened his blood before flushing away again, but even this painful blow did not bring his thoughts back around.

He could not bring himself back from the severe jarring Jibreel had dealt him for four significant seconds, enough for the sword to tear up his midsection and a blast of fire to follow the frost. A quick glance over the woman's shoulder revealed the mage, a might tore up by Jublop, but likely with enough power to finish him off, even if he managed to take down Jibreel.

"You see?" Vachon pointed to the scene, a smug appearance on his face. "She shifted the tide just fine."

"Because Ex had the sense to help her," Janelle returned with confusion as she ran the facts through her head, at first unable to explain Vachon's reluctance to aide his own soldier. As the scene from the previous evening replayed in her head, however—the conversation she'd overheard between Vachon and Jibreel earlier—the puzzle pieced itself together. Almost frantic, she turned to Vachon with a sudden snarl in her features. "Surely you were not allowing her torture to continue out of some perceived affront to your machismo?" she posed.

"How dare you question my motives!" Vachon growled back, tossing long, red hair over his shoulder. "Anyhow, what difference does it make? She's doing fine."

"Perhaps it is so," Janelle muttered angrily, venom coursing through her veins; the sort of hate that only appears after what was once admiration is washed away. "Sir, I think that perhaps I should be reas—"

"What the!?" Vachon interrupted with a heavy gasp as a sharp pain stuck him between the shoulder blades. Behind him, Lisys had seeped from the shadows as if she, too, were one of them, to stab with all of her fury, mashing her small but potent dagger through the tough mail chain to the best of her ability, then drag the knife back out once more before the Captain could complete his turn around.

"Foul undead wretch!" Vachon shouted as he laid eyes on the Forsakenness's tell-tale leather straps and exposed, hungry teeth. "_The light will drive you from these lands_!" he snarled in Orcish, so that the girl could understand him before she met her inevitable demise. He swung his sword powerfully and it connected with Lisys's chest with ease; Vachon was no fledgling swordsmen. But then he wasn't accustomed to the boundless prowess of the shadow, either.

Behind them, she was aware that Negate was fighting a losing battle, and that he was likely suffering in the ways that only mortals do, in ways that she could scarcely recall. Negate had begun with the upper hand, but in a two-on-one while he was already wounded, the end would be too close. It was possible that his life hung in this delicate balance

Straight from birth, Lisys had felt the heavy hand of loss. Her mother died _mysteriously _while she was still quite young, and the trend had been steady downward from there, with every brief turn upward complimented with another heavy sink downward, all the way up to her contraction of the plague. Since she had known Negate, the quality of her existence had steadily improved despite all of his shortcomings—only for fate to rip him away from her?

Hell. No.

Stumbling back from the knock of his sword, she lunged forward just as quickly to dig the knife into the side of his neck, gouging a piece of his flesh as if by a sharpened spoon, and in the blink of an eye she was behind the holy warrior again, twisting her blade back into the already-closing hole she'd created in the initial backstab.

Daze ended by the pain he flipped around again, grunting in desperation as she matched his swings with slashes of her own.

"Janelle!" he shouted, voice marred and cracked as his shout was nearly interrupted by a well-placed cut to his face. "Janelle!"

"Be quiet!" Lisys ordered, blood exploding onto her face as she jammed the last blow home, imbedding the blade deeply between Vachon's ribs, directly into his lung. The holy warrior fell quickly, virtue of a heavy body, and Lisys wasted no time messily hacking off his head with the man's own sword. In her press for time, she didn't even bother to check if he was truly dead first.

Picking up the newly severed cranium, she wasted no time hurrying to the rotting opening, skidding short to a stop as another female, blonde and with the Scarlet Crusade's tabard, stood in her way.

Though Lisys had never before laid eyes on the woman, she had no time to get acquainted. Voice several octaves lower and stronger than her usual shy tone, she took a wild guess. "Janelle? … you're in my way."

Janelle raised her arms as if to retaliate physically, and Lisys prepared for it. However, the young priest merely shrugged instead. "Just thought you might like to know—next time we meet, I will aide in your demise," she informed, also evidently important enough to know Orcish—or perhaps she'd picked it up during her service to Vachon. Then, coldly nonchalant, she moved around Lisys to examine the grisly mess that was her Captain.

The undead watched her briefly, wondering for but a moment if that girl had witnessed the whole thing, before continuing forward.

Mana officially exhausted, Ex hurried toward Jibreel with the intent of beating Negate with his staff, lest he should again gain the upper hand in his struggle against the holy warrior: the gap in their health had quickly closed and now, with the race down to the wire and the uncertain close of the exchange so close, he was bound and determined to ensure the warlock parish.

Pausing to literally spit blood, Jibreel took a step back and raised her sword with the intent of throwing her entire body behind the swing, only to lose her grip on the blade before the motion had even begun. Unable to muster the will to spit again, blood from accidentally biting her tongue during the course of the battle instead flowed freely down her chin as she stared, in awe, toward the opening of the tower. So strong was her focus, in fact, that both Negate and Ex paused to look as well.

There, now standing in the open amidst the impressive heaps of bodies she and her partner had slaughtered earlier, stood the undead girl who'd saved this elf from Jibreel's blade the first time. She had taken steps to cover her face, obscuring empty eyes with thick studded leather straps, but the lipless mouth, always turned up into a satanic smile, was unmistakable. Adding to her horror was that every single tiny, sharp tooth was coated with a splash of blood, likely from the body of her captain, who's head now rested in the girl's palm.

With everyone's attention still utterly consumed by her, she casually pulled her backpack from her shoulder and stuffed the head within, then replaced the bag atop her shoulder. Seeing Negate was alive and, as long as she maintained the Crusaders' attentions, out of danger, her demeanor shifted back to normal.

"I got it!" she declared, beaming at the elf like a dog expecting pats and praise. "What we came for, I got it! Now let's hurry and get you patched up!"

Though she could not understand the language, the happy, almost innocent tone of this girl hit Jibreel like a stone. A thousand questions rose in her mind. How? How did the undead slip by her? How could she let this happen? Was this the elf's plan all along? How could the two of them show such disregard for human life? What kind of dark, lowly creature could desecrate the body of another man and stuff his head in a bag as if he meant nothing? Even Jibreel herself, who was admittedly not fond of the Captain, could scarcely imagine the mindset that allowed for such a heinous act.

All at once, Lisys's covered eyes met with Jibreel's horrorstruck face, and she took a step back, instantly losing resolve. "_You!?_" she gasped, fear possessing every fiber of her being.

"_You!" _Jibreel returned, regaining herself suddenly, as rage possessed every inch of her.

Negate wasted no time dashing forward, grabbing a hold of Lisys's wrist the instant before he took a harsh right to run around the back of the tower. He was nearly spent, and while Lisys was nearly unscathed, her own fear could possibly defeat her, even against such weakened opponents. Either way, the undead girl was correct when she said they'd got what they'd come for, and there was no reason to stay any longer.

Raw, untainted anger screamed through the holy warrior's veins as the pair bolted. "No…" she snarled, fists clenched as she started after them. "No! I _won't _let this end this way!" but before she could round the tower, Ex caught up to her and literally jumped on her, tackling her down unto the stone groundwork.

"Jibreel!" he half-shouted, desperate to call her to her senses lest she get herself killed. "Let them go, we lost! It's over."

The truth was self-evident, and Jibreel did not struggle, but vowed she would not _let them go,_ either. After seemingly endless seconds of merely laying there, listening to her own ragged breathing mix with Ex's, she closed her eyes and allowed her head to clear away the fog of high emotion. Able to think clearly, it was still at least a minute more before she pulled away from the mage to sit up.

Ex pulled himself upright as well, wiping his forehead. "Honestly, we should just be happy to be alive."

As if she didn't hear him, Jibreel stared off into the distance for several moments before turning her eyes to his face. "Who is next on that list?" she demanded, voice conveying an abundance of her usual rock-hard resolve. "I want to be assigned to him."

//SET LOCATION: NEW AVALON

"Excuse me," Sihner Xanthic demanded politely, yet impatiently at the same time. "Thassarian ordered I report to you," he informed, again politely, but in as few words as possible, since honest conversation with Commander Plaguefist was not at the top of his list of desires.

Without turning to face him at first, the other knight smirked, amused by the way Sihner's gravelly voice mingled so easily with the crackling burn of a corrupted city all around them. "They're only flesh and bone," the commander answered almost wistfully. "No match for the Scourge. We didn't find any of our brothers, but we did stumble upon something special." Turning to face his comrade, Plaguefists's eerie red eyes registered surprise. "Where's Saiynt?"

Sihner nodded his head backward, gesturing toward a small, rowdy Forsakenness mercilessly chasing a peasant woman holding a baby, sword drawn. She slashed at the pair here and there, but always pulled the sword in the opposite direction at the last second, barely sparing their lives, while commanding them to run faster.

The commander sighed audibly, but did not comment. While bizarre and a might distracting, terrifying the countryside was not exactly a bad hobby for a death knight to have. "Good. Better she is distracted," he muttered, before turning to face Sihner directly, as to read the man's facial expressions, as if unaware the pursuit would be a lost cause. "We got here, tore this place apart, and headed toward the prison house. We weren't expecting what we found in there, Sihner—seems the Crusade's been real busy. That whole thing is full of Argent Dawn prisoners. Most of them were already dead by the time we arrived, but a few were still breathing. I was about to go in there and execute the rest of them, but I think you should have the honors. In particular, there's a real feisty Forsaken in there that I think you'll take great pleasure in executing."

Sihner spared a moment to watch the commander with suspicion before turning to head inside the building to perform his bidding. 'Pleasure in execution' was Saiynt's pastime, that they sent he who appeared to take pleasure in nothing signaled something amiss.

With a cold sense of duty, he examined the inhabitants—all bound and in silent agony—with disinterest. This would not have phased him during his life, and it certainly was less powerful now. Toward the back of the cramped quarters kneeled the only body bearing the exposed bones of the Forsaken, and so the task would have been easy. The knight drew his sword with every intention of ending the man's second existence quickly and efficiently, but he stopped short as the Forsaken lifted his head and, as opposed to a cry for mercy, loosed a dark, sarcastic laugh.

"You—of all people!" he snickered, shaking his head furiously despite a large metallic color circling his neck, "twice a slave!"

Sihner dropped his arm mid-swing and instead held his sword at his side, momentarily dazed by the implied recognition. Did he know this man?

"And I suppose you don't remember?" he requested in the wake of Sihner's hesitation before cackling again, as if this last twist of fate had broken his nerve. Though he perched in the shadowed corner, mud-brown hair, to his chin though tossed behind his ears, and a very distinct demeanor were easily apparent—and yet the knight recognized naught. "I suppose it's fitting. This would be the second time the esteemed Arthas has gouged your memory, hm? It would shock the hell out of me if you can still think straight."

"Well, well, well!" a higher-pitched, punky voice from the front of the room interjected. So Saiynt had been paying attention after all, and followed him. "If it isn't Jacob fuckin' Andy! " she cackled as she approached, hands on her hips. "Never thought I'd see you again."

After this point, Jacob was almost rolling. "Of course! Of course the already wicked need nothing erased!" he cackled, bowing his head so that his hair covered his face, then abruptly snapping back upright with a sudden seriousness. "At least, not at first. I'm sure you'll lose yourself eventually," he snickered.

With an eye-roll, Saiynt tilted her head back to examine Sihner, who was still watching Jacob. "S' he sound familiar?" she asked.

"Just his name," Sihner answered heartlessly, turning to look back at Saiynt.

She giggled lightly, shaking her head. "Well, they screamin' outside for you to kill 'im already, so I'll have to explain later—but if you don't mind, in the interest of not makin' no one suspicious…"

Jacob bent forward like a willing sacrifice, sighing unhappily. "I'm going to die sober…" he lamented.

Sihner assumed his sword once more and swung heavily.

*END CH11: CLASH*


	13. Chapter 12

*BEGIN: CHAPTER 12*

//SET LOCATION: TIRISFAL GLADES

Negate paused briefly to turn around and examine the Crusader's Outpost, dilapidated and all the more gloomy now that the sun had set. "Good. Damn whore children didn't follow us," he muttered. "If I ever run into that mage again, he's dead."

"But it was that wicked Jibreel that almost killed you," Lisys reminded, wrapping her arms around herself with a shudder. "I really don't like her."

"Hah!" Negate scoffed, turning his nose skyward indignantly. "At least she's cute. Ex—what the hell kind of name is that, anyway?—is just a waste of space. That holy warrior had no clue what she was dealing with—she could have been old news—twice now! And he killed Jublop."

"Jublop's dead!?" Lisys squeaked, following Negate quickly away from the towers.

"Well, not really. As long as I exist he doesn't really die, he's just banished back to the hell hole from which he crawled. I can always call him back," Negate explained, frowning deeply at a small tear in the shoulder of his robe. "That woman tore my clothing—again! Crazy damn zealots... where were you, by the way?" Negate growled suddenly, interrupting his own rant. "I was worried!"

"Sorry," Lisys flinched. "I was feeling a bit weak so I ate this guy at the bottom of some hill, I know it grosses you out, so I didn't say anything…"

"Ugh… well, don't run off again. I'll have to learn to live with it," Negate exhaled, wondering what he'd done to deserve his fate.

"So, were you really worried about me?" Lisys asked hopefully, a rare edge of happiness shining through her voice.

Negate scoffed. "Of course I was! The last thing I need is an all night hunt for a pitiful undead rogue." He paused, gesturing toward a couple of vicious nightweb spiders. "While we're here, I don't suppose you have the same aversion to killing spiders as you have to the wolves?"

"No, I can kill them," Lisys answered with a smile. For reasons she could not quite place, looking back on her experiences with this elf made her happy—such as cutting the paws from wolves around Deathknell that she simply hadn't the malice within her to kill herself. Back then, just a few short days ago, he was merely a means to an end, but now…

Compared to Captain Vachon and his over-zealous defenders (two in particular) the unintelligent spiders went down quickly. Nonetheless, both elf and Forsakenness were dragging-their-feet-exhausted by the time they strode back into Brill, past Miss Winters, and into the inn. On the way up the stairs, Negate mustered the energy to spare a Forsakenness named Claire Willowflower a dashing smile, but otherwise the pair collapsed into bed as soon as they were able.

"It's late again…" Lisys mumbled, tossing off her boots, gloves, and bracers, all without actually sitting up. "At this rate, we'll never get our hours straight…"

"That's all right," Negate returned, throwing his robes to the floor. "I would imagine an undead rogue likes it this way, anyhow."

Lisys squirmed beneath the covers, pulling the blankets to her eyes while watching Negate sheepishly. "But you love the sun, don't you?" she asked with a yawn. "You always talk about it; _by the sun _this and that…"

Negate turned to watch her in kind, appearing surprised through half-lidded eyes. As naive and inexperienced as Lisys had shown herself to be, she wasn't really unintelligent, and her heads wasn't so much in the clouds as he thought. Having only spent a few days with one member of a race she previously knew nothing about, this was not a bad observation. "I suppose so. It's a cultural thing…" he mumbled sleepily. "Akin to the strange _embrace the shadow _nonsense that _your _people are always spouting…"

She felt almost achy for want of sleep, but a sudden, over-powering desire to keep talking possessed her spirit. "My people—are we really so repulsive to you?" she questioned quietly, half teasing, but half serious.

"Actually, I like to imagine that most of you are into very dirty sex. Deathknell was a bit dry… except the novice… this town, however… is full of women I like," Negate answered, whatever polite inhibitions he once possessed ebbed away by fatigue.

"Her name was Novice Elerth, and the rumor is that she has always been hopelessly in love with Maximillion," Lisys informed, closing her eyes despite her strong desire to prolong the moment.

"And I hope that someday all her dreams come true… doesn't mean she can't have fun in the meantime."

"You have no soul…"

"You aren't the first to tell me that," Negate snickered lightly, yawning as he shifted deeper beneath the covers.

"That reminds me… I still need to make excuses for you so Eliza won't hate me for liking you," Lisys exhaled. "Will you make sure I don't forget in the morning… please?"

Negate nodded his head lightly, fighting his own losing battle with consciousness. "The pushy girl in the leather, hmm? … Sure… after that, there are the plants we never gave to that abomination's master… and we're supposed to investigate the graveyard… while we're there… anyway…" he managed just before drifting off.

Lisys's natural smile widened as she listened to the elf's breathing become even and regular. He wasn't perfect, but he'd cut down on the insults and was genuinely patient with her… sometimes… and he was pretty, too. So much that she couldn't help but admire his face briefly before quickly averting her gaze, too shy even while he slept.

And she regretted it immediately. By default, her eyes fell below his face, to the space beneath the bed, where she was met with another pair of eyes, glowing a hot, unforgiving red. Lisys froze instantly.

"What… are you… looking at?" demanded a breathless, witch-like voice. It was quiet, barely over a harsh, raspy whisper.

Lisys swallowed nervously, carefully raising a hand to cover her mouth, lest her erratic breathing somehow wake Negate. Even despite her dreamy nature, logic took hold here: this woman was scourge, and it was impossible for the scourge to waltz into this town, past the deathgaurds, unnoticed. This wasn't real.

"Surely… not the elf…?" she rasped, reaching her bony hands from under the bed to drag herself slowly within view. Standing, the woman, or creature perhaps, wore a once-white linen dress, torn and tattered by equal parts rot and neglect. Blood dripped heavily from between uncovered bottom teeth, appearing twice as wet and sinister beneath the pair of glowing red that had attracted Lisys's attention in the first place. The pin that had once secured her hair neatly back now fell loose, allowing dark tendrils of ebony to obscure pieces of face and shoulder, but nevertheless, recognition was immediate.

Lisys loosed a pathetic whimper before she could check herself, clutching her hand tighter over her mouth. How cruel could her own mind be to show her none other than Missus Andy, in this form? Nervously she peeked around the gory apparition, feeling light relief that Negate remained asleep. There was no need to involve him in this insanity.

"_Pay_. _Attention_," demanded the witch, crossing the short distance between herself and Lisys in a quiet step to lay a clawed hand atop Lisys's forehead, forcibly shifting her gaze unto herself. "He must think you strange enough as it is, hm? I should hate to have to wake him…"

Lisys shook her head pleadingly, empty eyes widening past the leather straps.

The wasted form of Missus Andy kneeled beside Lisys's bed, laying her head atop the pillow with a cold, hard stare. Instinctively, Lisys followed her every move. "Do you know what I have come for?"

Fearful the hallucination might shout and cause her start if she did not answer, Lisys slowly nodded her head. "But... it will leave a big, ugly scar…" she whispered hoarsely.

The other smirked wickedly. "And so you refuse?" she laughed lightly, running her tongue over filthy, bloody teeth. "This will be a long night, Miss Grind."

xwx

"Mmm, another day half gone already…" Negate mumbled, opening his eyes for the last time. He had risen on two other occasions earlier in the morning, but at both times was unable to rouse Lisys. On both occurrences he simply returned to bed himself, but now they were approaching the noon hour, and there was a persistent rapping at the door.

"You get it, Lisys," Negate demanded. When the knocking sounded again and the undead did not wake, the elf pulled himself out of bed, disgruntled and dragging his shirt over his shoulders on the way to the door. "I have to do _everything,_" he grumbled unhappily, pulling open the portal. In the instant that he did, however, an unhappy whimper behind him drew his attention backward, to where Lisys slept. "Hm?"

"Oh my!" gasped Eliza Callen in the doorway, evidently hearing the noise as well. "What have you done to her _now_!?"

Negate quickly turned to the visitor, anger etching his brows together. "Excuse me!?"

"Ah, the poor girl!" Eliza gasped, shoving her way past him rudely. With no regard for etiquette or personal space, she ascended on the sleeping girl and shook her violently, uneasiness present in every move. "C'mon, wake up!"

In a flash Lisys's dead eyes opened behind thick leather, blinking away several layers of haze and fear as her actual surroundings registered, and Eliza's voice cut through the witchy cackle echoing in her ears. "E… Eliza?" She questioned, unsure at first, but with certainty came elation. "Eliza!" she gasped, leaping from the bed to wrap her arms around the leatherworker with intense relief. "I'm so happy to see you!"

With heightened interest, the elf watched the tangle of blanket and female form crash to the floor, and decided against his initial inclination—to toss the other Forsakenness out in the hall—for the time being.

"Oh my, my, my, it's worse than I thought," Eliza mumbled, struggling to a sit with her arms around the other. "Tell me now—be honest!—what has this _creature _done!?"

For a moment, Lisys's eyes widened as she wondered if perhaps she wasn't hallucinating, and maybe Eliza saw, or knew somehow… but then it occurred to her that Eliza probably meant Negate. At around the same time, she also realized she was still clinging to Eliza and that _the creature _was probably watching. She shyly disengaged herself from Eliza, shaking her head. "No, he… he didn't do anything to me."

"Are you sure? Do I need to throw him out so you can speak freely?" Eliza offered, shifting her gaze to Negate with an angry stare.

Negate scowled back at her. "Now that you have ceased to interest me, Miss Callen, you ought watch what you say."

Eliza started to stand, snarl on her pretty lips. "Why you son of a—"

"Eliza!" Lisys squealed, grasping the woman's hand firmly. "Please. Let me explain," she paused, giving Eliza ample time to sit once more, before continuing, "he isn't that bad. Don't look like that! I mean it! A lot of the things he says that seem utterly heartless are just jokes! Really," Lisys lied.

Eliza continued to appear unconvinced, and so Lisys decided to move on,

"And that incident with the drinking—he was just doing me a favor. I'd never had a drink before. He wasn't trying to get me drunk and take advantage of me, Eliza, he," Lisys paused a moment, lowering her face, "doesn't think I'm cute at all, so, it's really… not like that," she finished quietly.

"So he didn't--? Oh, thank the Shadow!" Eliza exhaled, wrapping her arms around Lisys once more. "I guess, then, it's all right if you stay with him."

Lisys returned the embrace sheepishly, patting Eliza's back awkwardly. "But thank you for looking out for me—I mean that."

"Yes, yes, thank you so much," Negate added mock-enthusiastically, throwing open the door. "So glad I've got your blessing, Miss Callen! Now if you'll excuse us."

Giving Lisys a loving pat on the head, Eliza stood up, scowling at Negate. "I'm watching you," she hissed before exiting promptly.

"The nerve of her!" Negate snarled, slamming the door pointedly behind the leatherworker. He angrily shifted through the clothing on the floor, jerking his robes about as if so frustrated he could scarcely hold still. "Just appointing herself your guardian…"

"To be honest, I think I like pushy people," Lisys confessed as she followed suit, replacing her boots and the like.

"Well then, you'll _adore _Silvermoon."

//SET LOCATION: COLDRIDGE VALLEY

"You know, until you showed up, I was the most exotic thing here—they treated me like a princess," cooed Eria to the tiny child hopping about in the snow. "But I suppose I don't really mind sharing the title, not with you."

Once the typical spoiled only child of well-meaning but misguided parents, Eria was sent to live and train here, amongst the hardworking, tireless Dwarves only a short year ago on the advice of her cousins who could no longer tolerate Eria's attitude. And then, less than a few weeks ago, little Angel dropped into her lap.

The child, whom informed Eria she would be turning eight soon during their first encounter, was half human, half high elf; far more unusual than a simple draenei. Jet black hair hung in near-perfect, silky-straight pigtails on either side of her head, revealing two short but pointed ears on either side of her head. Looking up at her new makeshift-big-sister, there was a subtle blue-green glow behind distinctly human irises. As with most crossbreeds, she knew neither o f her parents, and her previous caretaker, an elderly man, had died recently of old age.

"Princess Eria and Princess Angel!" shouted the younger, clearly excited. "I like—" she began, but stopped abruptly as she felt the slender fingers slip out of her hand in a quick jerking motion that left the girl confused.

"Princess Eria?" she questioned, turning her delicate face to the left, where her mentor had once stood, to find a trail of blood instead, leading toward a motionless, aquamarine heap. Unable to comprehend at first, she squinted her eyes hard before connecting the body to the woman who was holding her hand merely moments ago. "What…?"

"She's been dethroned," cackled a high, punky voice beside the half-elfin, so cold in composition that it seemed to freeze the blood in Angel's veins.

Turning so quickly she fell backward into the snow, the child gazed with eyes the size of dinner plates at Saiynt Cisneros, sword drawn with a fresh splatter of blood dripping over the steel.

"Uggh," laughed the death knight, raising the blade once more. "What kinda ugly cross-bread little bitch are you?" she laughed cruelly before dropping the blade down hard.

But only to hear it clang against the plate bracer before it ever reached the child. Opening her eyes, Angel found her savior to be a tall man four times as scary as the woman.

Standing straight with his arm blocking the path of the sword, Sihner Xanthic nodded his head toward the north, speaking directly to the child in his usual flat, emotionless tone. "Run."

Somehow unfrozen by his gravely tone, Angel turned and scrambled through the snow as fast as she could, tears freezing on her eyes.

Saiynt watched her run a moment before turning to the other knight, irritation clear on her over exaggerated lips. "The hell you do that for!?" she demanded before replacing annoyance with horror. "_By the light! _She isn't yours, is she!?"

Sihner scowled at her as if offended by the mere implication. "No. She may be useful if we ever want out." He answered thickly, before starting north as well.

"Lessee, that kid is what—nine at the MOST? And we mahched on the Sunwell somethin' like five years ago… before'at, we was hanged about--… oh whew! We were dead, it's not possible." She exhaled, relieved. "Now what the hell you talkin' about? Out? Outa what?"

SIhner ignored the question, pausing to give her a chance to catch up to his lengthy stride. "We should be in _Tirisfal Glades, _Saiynt."

"So I took a little… big detouah to play in the snow…" she shrugged. "Issat so weiahd?"

He did not answer, continuing forward. As frustrating as her refusal to stay on task (and her tendency to drag him across Azeroth—literally—for something so simple as snow) was, this particular chance encounter could be worth all the trouble in the world someday.

//SET LOCATION: SILVERMOON CITY

With so much beautiful sun flooding Farstrider's Square, Daynha Highnoon found it difficult to believe that her son had overslept, but instead that he was simply keeping his mother waiting as always. Nevertheless, she was certain he would give that exact excuse anyway.

And sure enough, no sooner did she turn at the sound of 'mom!' than did she hear the follow up,

"Sorry, I overslept."

With a soft laugh, Daynha patted the empty bench space next to her as she questioned, trying to keep her inner nag at bay, "I certainly hope you weren't gambling all night?"

"Me? No way!" Dawnn beamed, sitting beside her with the same charismatic smile that had saved him a lot of trouble throughout his whole life. "I told you I gave that up!"

"Like you gave up fighting?" Daynha questioned, lifting red eyebrows at younger beside her.

"Different, different," the man waved the question off, as if it were an unimportant detail. "It's not simple brawling anymore; it's practice! Paladinism is very physical."

As if a thousand sorrows had fallen from the sky directly onto her shoulders, the woman exhaled dramatically, placing her hands on her knees as she leaned forward. "One of the reasons I'd wished you stayed a priest…"

"Awww c'mon," Dawnn groaned, rubbing his forehead irately. "You're so pushy! I didn't call you out here to nag me!"

"Then what did you call me out here for?" Daynha asked, then quickly added, with as much drama as she could muster, "since you never want to come see your own dear mother without good reason anymore!"

In response he glared at her pointedly, folding his arms, to which she couldn't help but smile.

"Kidding, kidding! Go ahead, brat. I'm listening."

Not responding immediately, Dawnn leaned back slightly unfolding his arms, only to recross them again a bit awkwardly. "Actually… it's about Phasilica."

Instantaneously, akin to the flip of a coin, the woman's demeanor changed. All color drained from a naturally pale face as if a hidden anguish had possessed her. Then, all at once, she exploded to her feet with fists clenched, anger redarkening her features. "_Vaschel! _That whoreson! As if defending the little bitchin the first place wasn't so awful--! I swear I'll slap him right across the face for involving you in this!"

"Hey—hey! Calm down!" Dawnn half-pleaded, reaching for her wrist. Startled by the intensity of her outburst, he had to make special effort to be cautious moving forward. In the interest of keeping his mother present long enough to hear out the conversation, lying was his best option. "Vaschel didn't ask me to do this."

"Hm. Of course not," Daynha growled skeptically. However, she responded to his tugs on her arm and resumed her seat.

"Look," Dawnn began carefully, watching her reactions like a skilled manipulator, "Vaschel, Negate—they'll get theirs for trusting her, and it will be their cross to bear—I only give a shit about you."

"Watch your mouth."

"Mom!"

"Keep going," Daynha muttered unhappily, folding her own arms. "What are you saying?"

"If you happen to run into her outside the city—"

"I'll kill her!"

"Exactly!" Dawnn pointed at his mother with heavy vigor, turning slightly to face her better. "That's the problem! That right there! That attitude needs to go away. While she's outside the city, she can't hurt anything anyhow—just live and let…unlive. There's no call to interfere at this point."

Daynha laughed sarcastically, tossing her ponytail behind her. "Honestly!? Except that she is the bane and the Scourge of the world, and it is my calling as light-driven to end her?! I should think I raised you better than this! Of all the—"

"I know!" Dawnn interjected strongly. "I know what she is! Trust me, if it made sense at the time, I would have kicked her out as soon as she'd come!"

"Then why didn't you!?" Daynha demanded, turning her face up toward him angrily with her tiny hands balled into fists.

Dawnn shifted back, startled. He merely watched high emotions pass over her face before answering, quieter, almost mono-toned, "Because I didn't know what was wrong with Vaschel, and he would have died without Phasilica's direction."

"How fitting!" Daynha snarled, anger only rising. "She was probably the witch that poisoned him in the first place!"

"Maybe so, but at least he's still standing."

"A drop in the lightdamn bucket compared to the lives lost in the offensive against the Sunwell!" Daynha hissed, subconsciously clawing at her arm with the opposite hand. "Every time I look at your ear—"

"Just don't do anything stupid, okay!?" Dawnn interjected once more, standing with abrupt ferocity. "That's all I'm asking!"

Daynha's turn to be startled, she physically jumped back slightly.

"Let me assure you—if you try to start something, she won't dick around, mother!"

"Watch your mouth!" Daynha insisted, struggling against tears welling in the corners of her eyes.

"She won't _fuck around, mother!" _Dawnn repeated, louder. He felt guilty, of course—guilty in the first place for agreeing to have this conversation, guilty for standing idle while Negatory Voidbreaker went home to the mockery of life that was the woman he now defended, guilty for shouting at his own mother, who loved him so that she would sacrifice her own life for one-forth an ear, but on the other hand therein lied the problem. "Phasilica will burn you alive inside! She's not some dizzy doxy, and she was on our side at one time, trust me! There is nothing you can throw at her that she will not expect!"

"What's that supposed to mean?" the tiny holy warrior demanded, albeit calmer, furiously wiping her eyes. "That she was on our side?"

"C'mon, don't cry…" Dawnn grumbled, calming himself at the mere sound of her voice. The tears didn't help the self-condemnation. "She used to be a holy priest."

"How do you know that?" Daynha asked almost suspiciously, watching her son through narrowed eyes, still sticky with salt-water.

"It took her and I six months to fix Vaschel—that's a long time to spend with someone, it was self-evident," Dawnn shrugged.

Soothed, Daynha couldn't help but smile lightly; again, like the flip of a coin. "Have I ever told you that you're the smartest person I know?"

"Aww, don't make me blush," Dawnn groaned, covering his face. He didn't think any piece of the conversation had stuck with his mother, but now that they were off the subject, he couldn't force himself to bring it up again.

//SET LOCATION: LORDAERON, APPROX. 20 YEARS AGO

Two men, as different as night and day, wandered dizzily along the unfinished halls of an epic building, leaning on one another here and there for support, as they noisily enjoyed their favorite hobby: whiskey.

To the right, a silver-headed elfin paladin—none other than Vaschel Dauntlight.

To his left was a human man, nearly thirty years Vaschel's senior, yet still tough as an ox. Once coal-black hair now held strands of gray and a typically jovial face held the usual lines etched over time simply from frequent grinning. Though slightly shorter than the elf, he was of broader chest—in the way that humans usually are—and this tendency to keep ideal physical aptitude would cause most to miss-guess his age, lines, hair, and all.

"I knew it, I jus' knew it! You're a good man!" the human declared rudely, patting Vaschel heavily on the back. "By the way—thass a good shiner ya got there!"

"Wha?" Vaschel questioned almost dreamily, subconsciously reaching a hand up to touch his left eye, still slightly blackened. "Oh yeah! …You 'sshould shee the other guy!"

"Yeah!" returned the human excitedly, shoving his fist in the air. "That's how a real man does it! Beat down all challengers! No mercy!"

A smile the width of a zeppelin graced Vaschel's features as pure joy nearly brought tears to his eyes. "I am so happy you're here!" he declared, leaning forward to kiss the side of the human's face but stopping short as another walked past them. It was strange enough to see another walking the halls of the unfinished building this late at night—even stranger was the strong sense of déjà vu that the third man created.

He was an elf, Vaschel reasoned a good four inches shorter than himself at least, with jet black hair to his mid-waist. Even from the brief glance he'd caught of the elf's face, Vaschel couldn't shake the feeling that he had just walked by Negate, albeit older and with his hair down.

"Who wassat!?" Vaschel demanded, rubbing his eyes. Surely the world wasn't _that _small?

"I have no idea!" the human retorted sunnily, thrusting his whiskey bottle at Vaschel. "Ac'tally I think I'mma go catsch him, hold this for me?"

Vaschel nodded, taking the bottle from him. Briefly he considered the possibility that he needed to give up drinking, before deciding that the occasional mind-trick wasn't so awful. "Suuure! But if ya don't hurry it'll be goooone~"

"Thankssh, buddy!" his senior declared gratefully before disappearing down the hall, after the mysterious elf. The human discovered—disappointingly—that a few devout workers were still shuffling away to their campsites, and repeatedly he was stopped to exchange pleasantries. Never the sort to act snobbishly, he returned every greeting despite the addition of several lengthy minutes before he finally caught his man, just right outside the newly raised doorframe.

"Whoa! Hold on juss a second!" he shouted to the raven-haired elf, suppressing his glee at having caught up… finally.

The elf in question paused, turning to face the other with eyebrows raised. "I apologize, have we--?"

"Avarett Crysys!" the human declared as he thrust his hand out, an invitation to shake.

Apprehensive at first, the elf relaxed as realization passed over his face, as will happen when one recalls the name of an acquaintance of an acquaintance. "Ah! And I am—"

"Cevian Voidbreaker!" Avarett finished with a broad grin. "Less go fer a walk, sshall we?" requested the old paladin.

Seeing no way to politely decline the offer, Cevian exhaled. "I suppose."

"Thass'great!" Avarett exclaimed, seizing Cevian by the arm quite roughly as he walked with him toward the tree line. "See—when I hhhaard… haha… when I heard you was' gonna be here, I wash sho shurprised! Evidently you've heard ofvv me, and I'vvve heard of you—I can drink to that! I dunno if you notished, but I've actually shpent a long time studying elfin culture!"

"…Have you?" Cevian lifted an eyebrow, scarcely able to follow the man's confused drivel. "I'm... flattered." It was his sincerest desire to tune the human out, but in doing so he might miss an opportunity to exit his company.

"Shhhhure have! And I learned soooo much 'bout spellcasters—you all wear dresses! Heehee! Human men in dresshes are funny enough, but elves? Haha! Really takes a man thatsh confident in his masculinity, that'sh for shure! Oh my! Lookit all the trees! Damn, at this rate we'll get… los… sh.. lost!"

At this point, this atrocious manner of speech had long since worn away at Cevian's nerves. "Listen, Avarett—if Common is easier for you—"

"Actually!" Avarett chuckled, releasing his hold on the elf's arm, "it's all part of a façade—my alibi, sorta—until we were out of earshot!" the old paladin nodded backwards toward the building, now long in the distance. "I'm more clever than people give me credit for, Cevian! And you're sort of the victim of an elaborate set up."

More unamused than ever, Cevian lifted his eyebrows almost challengingly at the human. "I beg your pardon, Avarett—but I fail to see what purpose this has served. If you have honest business with me, I will hear it—in the meantime, I do not appreciate my time wasted," he hissed, by way of dismissal, as he started to move around Avarett, but was abruptly cut off.

"Actually—I wanted to ask you a personal question," Avarett confessed, a misleading smile planted on his features. "And that is—with all due respect of course—how many women do you intend to keep at once?"

All attempts to move past the paladin ceased as the elf froze, turning a very sinister gaze unto his opponent. "Excuse me?"

"Did I stutter?" Avarett questioned, chuckling. "Look, if Common is easier for you—"

"I scarcely think my affairs are any of your business," Cevian bit darkly, watching Avarett with narrowed eyes.

"And I suppose you're right, as long as you keep your hands off of my daughter," Avarett shrugged, appearing as aloof as possible despite the fact that he was actually watching Cevian's every move as closely as humanly possible.

It took Cevian a moment to comprehend the implication, but after a few brief seconds his confused expression gave way to a dark laugh. "Phasilica? Is that what this is about?" he asked, smoothing his hair back. "Honestly. She's married."

"Never stopped you," Avarett reminded, stiffening angrily at Cevian's tone.

"Nor you!" growled the elf, responding in kind to the intensity in the air. "Sins of the father."

"You think I jest?" Avarett challenged.

"I think it hardly matters—the heart wants as it wants," Cevian taunted just before the crack of a fist connecting to his jaw sounded in his ears, and the world spun, leaving the cocky mage on his back in the bushes.

Avarett leaned forward, as if to ensure he hadn't snapped the spellcaster's neck, before his eyes widened. Straightening his back he gasped dramatically, hands flying to either side of his face. "By the light—what have I done! I… I… that was a terrible idea! I left _Vaschel Dauntlight _alone with my whiskey! What was I thinking!?" and with an intense sense of urgency, he left Cevian there to recover.

//SET LOCATION: TIRISFAL GLADES, PRESENT DAY

"Really," Lisys scoffed, the mere sound of the rot hide ichor in her bag upsetting her to no end, "stealing bodies—of all the low--! I hate the Scourge," she huffed.

"Everyone hates the Scourge," Negate added, rolling his eyes. "They're up there with… with magi."

The Forsakenness couldn't help a light giggle as she followed Negate back into town, with the sun still up for once. After feeding a poor Dwarven man a poisoned drink, picking a few _more_ flowers, and offing a few undead gnolls, they'd essentially exhausted all work in the town—all that was left was the last Scarlet Outpost—but it was so far out of the way that it made more sense to leave it for tomorrow. It appeared as if they finally gained the chance to correct their hours, after all.

"Still upset with Ex, hm?"

"And a good many others," Negate scoffed.

"I certainly hope that I'm not one of them?" questioned an innocent voice from somewhere behind the pair, a voice that Negate did not initially recognize.

"Excuse m—" Negate began, cutting himself off with a gasp as he turned to see that none other than Fabricate, the wicked siren that had doomed him to this country in the first place, stood plainly behind the two, sinister smile playing on her pretty mouth.

"Hello?" Lisys tilted her head in confusion. "Negate, is she a—"

"By the sunwell!" Negate shouted, jarred into motion by Lisys's voice. He immediately dived behind the undead, barely peeking his eyes over her shoulder.

"Uh?" Lisys glanced behind her at the cowering elf, then back to the voluptuous woman in front of her. "That's strange, normally he runs _away _from me and _toward _the pretty girl…"

*END: CHAPTER 12*

_LAST REVISION 7-7-09_


	14. Chapter 13

~BEGIN: AUTHOR'S NOTE~

Ahahahahhahahaha. The story sure has been cute up til now. Who wants to see Negate royally fuck it up? =)

~END: AUTHOR'S NOTE~

*BEGIN CHAPTER 13: SULKING*

//SET LOCATION: NORTH EAST TIRISFAL GLADES

Two cursed darkhounds darted across the road before Crusaders Jibreel, Ex, and Janelle so intent on ambushing the tiny rat they had encountered that they scarcely noticed the humans. One beast latched onto the animal's head and the other his tail, ripping the tiny creature in two, then letting the pieces fall. They did not eat the animal's meat, instead killing the rat for the sheer joy of killing, before wandering away to locate another such victim.

"I hate demons," Ex muttered, watching as the wicked creatures pounced away. "Evil little things."

"Now there's an understatement—these things give me the creeps!" Janelle replied with a hard shudder. "Never used to be around before Arthas went crazy… Oh, are you two from here originally?"

"No, no, I was actually born in Stratholme originally, but raised all over… Jibreel we're not exactly sure of," Ex answered, sparing Jibreel, who did not comment, a sideways glance.

"Not sure of? Why not?" Janelle pressed amiably.

Ex glanced again to Jibreel as if looking for permission to discuss something so personal. When Jibreel gave no hint or reply, he simply went on. "Well, Jibreel was orphaned when she was young. Actually, that's how we met—she was raised by my uncle on my father's side, and then after he died, she switched hands three or four times before settling again with my uncle on my mother's side. It's been tough to track down anything on her

"Ah! How sad! Are you looking very hard?" Janelle asked, turning her face to Jibreel.

"Actually, I didn't care too much until a couple years ago, when someone lead me to believe I might have a birth sister out there somewhere. Since then…" Jibreel let the sentence trail, speaking her first words since they'd left the bodies of Captain Vachon and the majority of his underlings behind.

"Well, I can help you look, if you want!" Janelle beamed, flashing a broad smile. "My father was a linguist, so logic dictated he'd do book and record keeping, I guess. If your real family believed in the light, and most humans do, I'm sure we can dig something up."

"A linguist, huh?" Ex whistled. "Bet that comes in handy."

"Your father doesn't speak Orcish by chance, does he?" Jibreel asked suddenly.

"Sure! We both do," Janelle replied with excitement, pleased to see that Jibreel had come away from sulking.

"I don't suppose you could teach me?" she ventured, biting her bottom lip.

"Me too, it'd be useful," Ex concurred.

"Well, sure, but under one condition—Jibreel, you can't mourn for Captain Vachon anymore. He… just trust me, that fraud had it coming."

The holy warrior turned her face away, sighing. "That I can't promise. He wasn't perfect, but I still failed him."

"Then at least try to forget about him and put your energy towards defending Captain Melrache. I met him before, he's a good man—isn't he, Ex?—and deserves your devotion. Plus, we get a ton more backup since we're so close to the Monestary. We're under a better camp now, and things will be different." Janelle offered sunnily.

Jibreel closed her eyes, smiling lightly as she imagined the demise of that warlock and undead girl who had, thus far, foiled her at every turn. "Damn right they will be."

//SET LOCATION: BRILL

Fabricate could not help but laugh lightly as the warlock dived behind the Forsakenness, smirking wickedly. "I must say—it's a pleasure to see you as well."

"Be silent, devil woman! Crawl back to the sulfuric molten pit from which you spawned!" Negate insisted, hiding safely behind Lisys.

"Ah, Negate? …Do you know this woman?" Lisys asked quietly, head tilted. The stranger was pretty—so much that her usual sheepishness kicked in and she sincerely wished that Negate was not hiding behind her so that _she_ could hide behind _him._

"You didn't tell her about us, Negate?" the attractive mage pressed with an appealing smile, taking great pleasure in taunting the other elf.

"Us!? I barely knew you an hour!"

"Oh, so she's _that _kind of friend," Lisys moved aside, suddenly uninterested in protecting him.

"No—I—she! This viper tried to kill me!" Negate stumbled, gesturing angrily toward the scantily clad mage, causing Lisys's expression to shift back to alarm.

"Tried to kill you!?"

Fabricate tossed her hair breezily, laughing with a clear, high note that brought attention back to her. "Oh, he's exaggerating! We were just having a little fun in the lake. It's all a misunderstanding, honestly."

"Misunderstanding!? You clearly stated you would drown me and take my magic!" Negate growled, infuriated past fear.

"Oh my," Lisys whimpered, eyes wide behind thick leather.

"You honestly think I meant to kill you? Come now, I was only playing!" Fabricate cooed, running her tongue over her lips sensually. "I actually came to apologize for the whole incident—I feel just _awful. _Please, please let me make it up to you? Come away with me—we can do whatever you want," she finished with a sly wink.

"I want to live, but thanks for the offer," Negate scoffed.

Lisys eyed the male, impressed by his rare display of self-control, until the heat of Fabricate's hand upon her shoulder cut through her consciousness, causing Lisys to stiffen all over. "Ah, Miss Fabricate…" she whimpered.

"Come on now, if you don't trust me, your little friend here can come along—make sure I don't try anything funny. She can even watch, if you two are in to that sort of thing…" Fabricate breathed appealingly, in part to Lisys, noticing the undead was adversely affected by her touch. "I just feel so terrible, I lie awake at night thinking of ways to make it up to you…"

"Ah… what… happened, exactly?" Lisys managed politely though squirming in clear discomfort.

"Stop it, stop it, stop it," Negate ordered, swatting Fabricate away from the very flustered Forsaken. "Leave Lisys alone, she's not worth any magic to you. I accept your apology—may have even been tempted to accept your offer—except that you also tried to kill a friend of mine a few months back in Silvermoon City—which you said you hadn't visited in years—so I really can't trust you," he advised as he pulled Lisys away from the crazed elf and back to the inn.

"But--!" Fabricate interjected, but he did not stop, leaving her seething.

Once safely within the building and away from Fabricate, both parties sighed with relief.

"What was she all about?" Lisys asked on the way up the stairs as soon as her rational thoughts returned to her.

"I…" Negate took a deep breath, then exhaled, deciding that the truth would be the best course. "After that raid dragged me to the Undercity, I met up with that wicked siren who lured me into the woods with promises of dirty fun, but instead she took my map and tried to drown me. I barely escaped thanks to Jublop and… then I met you."

Lisys frowned at Negate, shutting the door to their room particularly hard. "Promises of--!? You deserve every misfortune that has befallen you, Negate Voidbreaker! Certainly the elves teach their children the dangers of strange, flirtatious women!?"

Negate rolled his eyes, only half-listening to the undead as he gazed out the window, relieved to see Fabricate had gone. Why would she hunt around Brill, anyway?

Lisys exhaled unhappily—of course, he paid her no mind. "Why did she try to kill you, anyway?"

"She's not right in her head and hurting for magic, on her way to wretched more than likely," Negate answered.

Lisys took a seat on the bed, removing her boot and wiggling her toes. "Magic? Wretched?" it felt strange to have nothing to do, but she enjoyed spending downtime with Negate more than she cared to let on.

Negate smirked. "You really are clueless, aren't you? Surely you know my people are addicted to magic."

"I'm not clueless," Lisys whimpered, arms crossed. "Of course I'd heard that! … I just don't really understand it…" she muttered.

"What's to understand?" Negate questioned earnestly, sitting across from her. He honestly didn't mind teaching the pitiful girl about his people. It was his personal opinion that the whole world should know of the greatness of Quel'thalas, and besides, her curiosity was cute.

"How can you be addicted to something like magic?" she asked, tilting her head. "What happens if you don't get it? Can you get unaddicted to it?"

Negate laughed lightly. "Well, years ago we had the Sunwell—you've heard of that, yes?" she nodded, so he went on, "that was a constant source of arcane magic. The whole of Quel'thalas was essentially bathed in it. No one really knew we were dependant on it—until the third war, of course, and it was gone. As with any substance, tangible or otherwise, it affects everyone differently. 'Unaddicted' might not be a good word, but it's possible to control it—some high elves don't need it at all."

Lisys leaned forward, eyes widening behind thick leather with fascination. "What about you? How does it affect you?"

Negate's placid expression broke slightly. "Ugh, I'd rather die than live without it," he grumbled, running his hand over his face almost guiltily. "I considered ending it more than once immediately after the destruction of the Sunwell. I would have, if it weren't for Negatory."

Somehow, Lisys's eyes widened even more so. "That is… a beautiful story!"

"I'm not so sure about that," Negate scoffed, bag shifting from his shoulder and falling to the floor with a startlingly noisy thud.

"What's in there?" Lisys asked, her gaze shifting to the heavy bag.

"Speaking of the past..." Negate muttered, yanking a heavy book from the bag. "I forgot all about this—it's an accounting record I found at the Agamand Mills. I kept it so I could check for your name, but I forgot about it until now. I always wondered what dismal wages pitiful humans were paid. What's your last name?"

Lisys's demeanor shifted mysteriously to a more heightened state of nervousness. "Oh… is that so?" she questioned, squirming a bit uncomfortably. "Grind. Lisys Grind…." She muttered.

"Grind… Grind… I like it, sounds dirty," Negate muttered out loud as he opened the book, coughing lightly at the dust cloud that ensued.

"It _is_ dirty," she whispered quietly to herself, not intending for him to hear, then added louder, "Ah, it looks to me like a few pages are missing; this might be a waste of time."

"I'm not seeing it—they did pay you, didn't they? You should be right above the Farthings…" Negate questioned, tilting his eyes back to her. It wouldn't really surprise the elf if someone had successfully talked meek little Lisys into slave labor once upon a time. Then he started, as if some strange fact of greater importance struck him suddenly. "The Agamands were human, weren't they? Why is this in Thalasian?"

The Forsakenness tilted her head. "Well, it wasn't uncommon for the rich to teach their children a multitude of languages. Thalasian is particularly tough to learn, I understand—"

"Required a private tutor usually, didn't it?" Negate asked, shifting his eyes back down to the book.

"Mmmhm, so the wealthy, nobles and the like, would keep anything they didn't want the commoners reading in Thalasian. I guess they didn't want their workers to know how dimly they were paid if one of them ever got a hold of that book," Lisys giggled.

"Hm, well, it hardly matters if they couldn't keep accurate records. Are you sure you worked there?" Negate questioned, lifting his eyebrows.

"Positive," Lisys answered, her mood washing away as she stared at the ceiling, the floor, and anywhere but Negate. "—ah! I know, you could try Lisys… ah…"

"Lisys Ah?" Negate questioned impatiently. "What are you muttering over there?"

"I'm not muttering! I just… suddenly… can't recall what my married name was…" she returned with nervous ire. Since the Lich King ripped away a good portion of her memory during her rising at the hands of the plague, it did not surprise her that not all of her memory came back—most notably, she could no longer speak or comprehend Common. But why on Azeroth could she recall her maiden name, Grind, but not her husband's?

Her thoughts shattered suddenly as the book Negate had been digging through previously hit the floor, along with his jaw.

"Your _what?" _

"My name changed after I got married! Doesn't it work that way with elves, too?" Lisys asked, a bit alarmed by his surprise. "that's the only reason I ever came to this town all those years ago—could you imagine tying the knot under Priest Sarvis? Ugh…"

Negate shut his mouth, swallowing hard as his eyes nearly watered from the strain of remaining open so wide. "To WHOM? You told me back in Deathknell that you never '_tried for anyone'_!"

"I—I didn't!" Lisys stuttered, "_He _tried for _me_! … Successfully!"

"Who!?" Negate insisted, now on all fours at the very edge of his bed. The suspense was killing him!

"Oliver!" the Forsakenness answered as if it should have been obvious. "As soon as I turned eighteen, I—"

Negate cut her off abruptly with an eruption of laughter, losing his balance and falling to the floor. "The Deathguard!?"

Lisys frowned, nodding her head firmly. "Yes! …What's so funny?"

"Nothing—just!" Negate gasped, wiping a tear from his eye as he forced himself to calm down. "You two are the most socially awkward people I have ever laid eyes on! What the hell was the courtship like?"

Lisys ran her fingers through her hair repeatedly, again thankful for the thick straps she could hide behind—regardless of how they hurt her face. "Well, it was normal! You know, he took me places and bought me things and… Well, you know!"

"Ahhh…" Negate pulled himself up to his feet, straightening his robes as he loosed the last round of chuckles. "Then you got married, then you died and your face rotted off. Poor guy, no wonder he left you."

The undead started slightly, jerking her eyes to the warlock, so surprised she was not immediately sure how to respond. In the space of five words, Negate easily made up for days without harsh insult. Finally, as if in a daze she lowered her face again, muttering sincerely, since she suddenly had no energy for pretense, "Actually… I wasn't pretty when I was alive, either…"

"Pardon?" Negate ran his fingers through his ponytail subconsciously.

Lisys stood listlessly and began for the exit, mumbling blearily on her way out. "I'm going outside… I won't go far, you won't have to look for me," she managed, then shut the door on his response. Lisys did not want to be alone—far from it, but she suddenly found herself incapable of facing Negate, and Eliza Callen would notice Lisys's off mood instantly and expect an explanation. Unfortunately, she did not want to lie to Eliza anymore than she wanted to admit the truth—that Negate was an asshole.

An uncontrollable, rotting loneliness swept through her as she recalled, with bitter humor, that her tear glands quit working after she died.

Meanwhile, Negate strode quickly toward the large window between the desks, watching as Lisys sulked out the inn, eyebrows lifted. For some reason, it seemed strange to him that she would run off—in the past, it'd been her tendency to stick skittishly by his side.

"Damn, I wonder if they honestly did separate," he grumbled, subconsciously smoothing his hair. If it were the case, then he'd owe Lisys an apology—one of his absolute least favorite actions on Azeroth. He turned around again, running any alternative he could think of through his head, scarcely noticing until he had crossed half the room that an attractive undead woman stood in the open doorway.

Claire Willower, thin through the waist and thick through the right places—as were most undead women—had wild, blonde hair that made Negate wonder as to its texture, should the opportunity to grab a fistful present itself, and soft purple lips. The elf vaguely remembered winking at her the night before while he and Lisys, dead-tired, dragged themselves up the stairs.

"Can I help you?" he asked, lifting an eyebrow.

She smirked in such a way that indecently reminded him of Fae Adams, an acquaintance back home. "I should hope so. You kicked me out of my room a few days back and still haven't given it back."

"Ah, that was you? Well, Lisys and I will be out by tomorrow—" Negate began dismissively, but she cut him off, entering the room and pulling the door closed behind her.

"Lisys, is that your girlfriend that just took off?" she questioned, closing the distance between herself and the elf.

She wasn't shorter than he by much, but the apparent inability to stand erect exaggerated the difference. Furthermore, the way she leaned forward meant her breasts were less than a hair's breadth from pressing his chest.

Negate scoffed lightly, forcibly keeping his eyes on Claire's face, "No—I'm afraid you've entirely misinterpreted. We just travel together."

"Ahh… what a relief…" Claire exhaled, lightly tracing the gold patterns stitched into his robe. "After you displaced me, I should say you owe me a favor, and ever since you caught my eye I've been thinking…" she carefully placed long, boney fingers on his shoulders. "Before you think me too forward, you should know: I was born to a little working class family and spent my whole pathetic existence picking up after the dirty rich. Now that I'm dead, I want to have fun."

Negate briefly considered pushing her away. Something about this situation seemed unsettlingly familiar—hadn't sex appeal gotten him in serious trouble once before? But Claire looked harmless enough, and he did throw her out of her room… "What did you have in mind?"

Claire daintily wrapped her arms around his neck, wetting her lips before pressing them hard against his.

Negate slid his arms around the tiny waist belonging to this complete stranger as he, too, ran his tongue over her lip experimentally. Never had he really wondered about what an undead girl would taste like, but if he had he probably would have imagined something unpleasant. On the contrary. She tasted of fel and shadow, necromancy and taint. If 'forbidden' had its own taste, he believed it would be something akin to hers.

He broke their lips only to remove her top, part of a plain brown ensemble that looked better on the floor anyway, and meeting no protest, he pulled her backward unto the bed with him.

Claire came out on top, straddling the elf's waist. She pinned his shoulder with one hand, the other tugging and unfastening his robes. As she worked furiously, eager to expose more of his gorgeous peach-light skin, the boney tips of her fingers pressed into his chest, causing her to pause suddenly. Her eyes widened slightly in surprise—he felt so _different _she almost couldn't place the sensation. Mesmerized, she trailed the digits along his skin.

Negate seized her wrists suddenly, startling her eyes back to his. A wicked smirk overtook his features with a certain darkish quality that the undead hadn't seen before. She wasn't certain if it was just that she thought him so attractive, the way her fingers throbbed against his skin, or a combination of the two, but something about him suddenly made her shy.

"Nervous?" he teased, holding her wrists between his fingers in one hand while he pushed her shoulder with the other, switching their positions. After five days with Lisys, the temperature difference did not phase him. "Don't worry, little girl, I'll be careful," he snickered condescendingly.

Xwx

Head hanging, Lisys slowly forced her way up the stairs, face completely obscured between her black hair and leather. Previously, every ounce of her had been possessed with a cycle of illogical, unhappy thought—how could anyone be so insensitive? Or was it that she was too sensitive? Should she blame the elf for assuming Oliver split because she was so grossly defective? Was she really that deformed? At one point, she felt like she should throw herself at Negate's feet and thank him for putting up with such a useless, hideous girl like her, then at another she thought she should demand an apology and order him to make this up to her somehow, and still other pieces of her wanted to run away from this town and back to the very Deathguard in question. At all points she wanted to be held, but who in the world cared about her enough to look past her ugliness long enough to even get close?

After exhausting herself jumping one thought to another in disconnected not-order, a common coping mechanism kicked in and nearly shut her thoughts down, leaving her to only the most basic logic, which told her that the sun had gone down and she should return lest the elf worry… if he gave a damn, anyway.

The innkeeper waived impatiently at the undead upon her entrance, but Lisys ducked up the stairs quickly, pretending not to notice. As she rounded the corner the door to the room she shared with Negate opened and an undead by the name of Claire Willower exited.

Mild surprise registered on Lisys's otherwise gloomy features as she shifted aside to let the other pass. "Claire?" What was she doing in her room?

"Oh, you!" Claire answered immediately, pausing to face the other. While Negate had assured her that he and Lisys were merely traveling partners, she still felt as if she'd done something wrong. "How are you?"

"I… am fine, thank you," Lisys answered quietly, a bit unnerved. Claire wasn't even this chipper while she was still living.

"Well, it's been interesting seeing you again! Perhaps I'll run into you later!" the other woman nearly sang before disappearing around the corner and down the stairs.

Almost curiously, Lisys strode forward with renewed purpose, pushing open the door to see her traveling companion was fixing his hair. In a tone that could nearly be mistaken for confidence, she ventured, "What was Claire Willower doing in our room?"

Negate's face snapped to attention at the sight of Lisys, whom he'd previously forgotten about. While his judgment of time was probably skewed, he could see that the sun had set outside, meaning she'd been gone for quite a while. With his luck, she was likely just outside the room the whole time and would catch his lie, but he thought he should try anyway. Anything to avoid another lecture on the dangers of strange and flirtatious women.

"She had this room before you and I—I actually threw her out—but she left something, so I told her I'd help look for it," he lied, doing his best not to sound pleased.

"Oh," Lisys answered, tilting her eyes back down as she made her way for the bed. It wasn't that she didn't believe him, it was more that she didn't care about the situation enough to form an opinion at all. Without speaking or even glancing to Negate, she removed her boots, bracers, and all other unnecessary garments, before hopping into bed.

As sensitive as Negate was, her melancholy was such a deviation from the norm that he noticed instantly, and, stranger still, he could feel it tugging his own temperament. "…Lisys?"

"I am very tired," she answered quietly with her back to him, pulling the blanket up to her chin. "If you don't mind…"

Her answer, from the way she said it to the words she used, affirmed his suspicions: something was amiss. "No, of course not… I've letters to reply to, but…"

"Sure, just keep the light low please…" she returned, gloom multiplied as the comforter muffled her voice.

"Good night," Negate offered. Expecting her to return the courtesy , he watched her lying perfectly still beneath the quilt until her breath evened out and she was asleep. Whatever it was, he sincerely hoped it would clear in the morning.

//SET LOCATION: BALNIR FARMSTEAD

Saiynt Cisneros's plate leggings clanged together as she swung one leg over an old, broken fence to straddle the wood comfortably, arms crossed as she surveyed her surroundings. "Hm! Kinda reminds me of my bullshit life befoah I killed people, if you ignoah the Scourge everywayuh…"

Everywhere was almost an understatement: scarcely an inch of the massive field before her was untrodden by some bloody, oozing mockery of life, or equally disturbing apparition, sulking about as if unaware of its own passing.

Sihner too leaned on the fence, quietly observing their surroundings until Saiynt 's arm extended quickly to point straight ahead, accompanied by a quiet gasp.

"Ey, check it out! Iss her, idn't it?"

The man traced the tip of her finger toward an old, broken wood wagon, half submerged in dirt as if the field intended to claim its decaying form for its poison nutrients. Perched atop the wagon was a woman and two men, the latter of which looked very much like any other corpses wandering the field. On the other hand, the woman was an anomaly: tall and slender with dark tresses spilling from what was once an uptight bun to grace her moon-white shoulders. Though her white dress was blood-soaked-see-through and torn at every other stitch, she sat ladylike style with her attractive, bloodied legs folded elegantly to the side.

Between claw-like hands the woman clutched one zombie's arms as she tore out his festering bicep with her teeth, grinding the muscle in her mouth until she could swallow. Such was her power over these lower creatures that, even as she devoured their bodies before their very eyes, they did not attempt to flee. On the contrary they were attracted to her, and more such piteous creatures shambled to her in hopes of attracting her attention, even that of her mouth.

"Amazing," Saiynt breathed, itching away desires to run toward the woman herself. "I'm going to try it, too!" And with that she tackled the nearest bleeding horror at the knees, gnawing shamelessly at its legs.

The creature cried out, as would a pained animal, and fought her like the devil.

Sihner watched his partner's unsuccessful attempts to replicate the stunt briefly before turning his attention back to the feasting wench, letting Saiynt be.

Well aware of their presence since their arrival the woman watched Sihner approach her carefully, releasing her meal, much to his disappointment. "Sihner," she exhaled, placing a hand to her chest with an edge of excitement,

"Jaqlyn," he returned stonily, extending a hand to help her from the rotting wagon, which she accepted, floating gracefully down toward him.

"Do you remember me?" she questioned, her voice clear and easy. "You must not, if you're letting me touch you."

Completely uninterested in reuniting with his murky past at this time, Sihner did not encourage the woman to remind him. He did note, however, with some irritation that she kept his hand in hers, even after she was safely on the ground next to him. Just as he was about to claim it back, a particularly ghastly cry from behind shifted his attention over his shoulder, where Saiynt had ended the existence of some pitiful ghost attempting to interfere with her experiments.

"It's joyless for you, isn't it? Death, torture—almost makes you squeamish. You're not suited to this like she is," Jaqlyn half-whispered with her chin atop his shoulder, rubbing the palm of Sihner's hand with her fingers. "How strange that our great, dark king would send a man like you out to Sylvanas's backyard—or does Saiynt's fanaticism keep you loyal?"

"The Lich King wants you home," the knight answered plainly, leaving his hand in hers for the time being. He neither looked to her, nor made a point to look away from her. "Don't piss him off."

She laughed cruelly, running her tongue over her upper lip. "I believe you are more replaceable than I am. If I do not return, it's your ass, not mine."

Hardly in the mood to play this game, Sihner pulled his hand away to grab the hilt of his sword where it rested on his left shoulder blade. "Go home or I'll scalp you."

"Ahhh…" Jaqlyn half-moaned, wrapping her slender fingers around his bicep to gently pull his arm back to his side. "I wish I'd married you, Avarett never said romantic things like that… oh! Mason Andy's dead, by the way," she added suddenly, as if the thought had just occurred to her.

Sihner wordlessly released the hilt of his sword and allowed his arm to be tugged downward, a heavy frown set hard on his face.

The witch watched his features carefully, a light smirk over-taking her own. "That bothers you, doesn't it? Like a thorn in the base of your skull… and you're not sure why…" Like serpents her arms encircled his as she laid her head carefully on his shoulder. "I will return to The Acherus in due time, but I want to see you again."

The knight, irritated but not unwilling to compromise, dipped his head once in a nod.

"But I've matters to attend first—why not let the scrappy bitch run around a while? She looks like she's got energy to spend," Jaqlyn advised as she released him, stepping forward. "Saiynt, dear!"

Saiynt turned from the walking carcass she'd been wrestling with the intent to respond rudely, but stopped short. She surveyed Jaqlyn briefly, then as if recognizing her as a superior replied, stiffly but not so much politely, "Ma'am?"

"You're not really going about it the right way," she informed smoothly as would a teacher to her pupil, every word seeping with wicked, malicious intent. "Come to me, little girl—I will show you how."

Saiynt surveyed the woman as if considering it before laughing lightly, turning the other direction instead. "No thanks, ma'am, mine is a head you own't wanna be in. C'mon, mistah, less dip out. Jaqlyn says she'll come home 'ventually, and I wanna fuck around with the Scarlet Crusade for a while."

//SET LOCATION: SILVERMOON CITY

"_Nate is coming home! Nate is coming hooome_~!" Tory sang, bobbing her head from side to side excitedly. The elated smile planted on her face was so exaggerated that her eyes formed tiny slits that were almost blind to the beautiful twilight before her. Normally, star-gazing was her favorite thing in the world—when she could stay awake long enough to see them. But tonight, the excitement of her brother's returning—not tomorrow, but the day after—far over-shadowed any celestial joy.

"_Then I won't be aloone_~! And—Vaschel, do you know the best part?!" Negatory squealed, pausing her song to speak to Vaschel, who wouldn't answer her in song, no matter how hard she tried.

"What?" he asked lazily, sprawled out next to the tiny rogue. Either of them rested in a placid corner of the great city, on Dawnn's porch stairs. Negatory sat perfectly upright, bouncing here and there with excitement, while the paladin laid on his back, vertically along the stairs, legs halfway obstructing the walkway.

"He's bringing my new best friend ever with him!" she cheered, wrapping her arms around herself as if attempting to physically hold herself still.

"What? You don't even know her," Vaschel scoffed, certain he was dehydrated, but too lethargic to reach in his bag for water.

Negatory nodded her head in ascent. "That's true—but I know that we will be! And then she'll get married to my stupid brother, and I'll finally have a sister! Ahhh!" her eyes widened until their toxic glow overpowered that of the streetlights for a distance several inches from her face.

"Hm. And then Arthas will send Sylvanas Windrunner flowers and an apology," Vaschel added.

"Ye--!" Negatory started to agree, but she stopped short as a vein popped in her forehead. "Don't make fun of me!"

"Only looking out for your best interests, little girl. She might be scary—not all Forsakennesses are as pretty as Phasilica," he reminded her seriously, eyes closed. When she didn't argue, he opened his eyes and sat up to face her, expecting to see she'd fallen asleep, but instead to find she was smiling at him.

"You think Phasilica's pretty, mm?" she asked, holding his lazy eye contact for a fraction of a second, before footfalls in close proximity turned her attention away. "Dawnn!" she squealed, before rocketing off the stairs to meet the paladin half way.

"About damn time," Vaschel grumbled, finally making the effort to rifle through his bag, since he was up anyway. He found no water, but a strong grain alcohol, that was _similar _to water in that it was clear. Pulling the top off with his teeth, he decided to make due.

"Hey there!" Dawnn smiled, looking good-natured as always but also a bit tired. Negatory picked up on this subtlety instantly.

"You look exhausted! Is it from arguing with Daynha?" the small girl pressed stealthily, eager to elicit details as to the argument's origin.

"So you saw that, huh? Well, I think you misinterpreted. I gave up arguing with her years ago," Dawnn answered, waving the question off as he accompanied the rogue back to his own porch. "Have you two really been waiting for me this whole time? Light, if I would have known I'd have hurried…"

"It's all right, we really just got here!" Negatory chirped, covering minor disappointment with forced, over-exaggerated cheer. As usual, something important was happening… and no one wanted to tell her about it.

"Damnit," Vaschel grunted out loud as Negatory plopped down beside him once more. Arguing wasn't a good sign at all. "Dawnn, you're so useless!"

His younger's placid expression broke as he faced his elder offensively. "Honestly!? I told you I didn't think it would get anywhere—just be glad I offered to help you at all!"

"You didn't offer, and you didn't help me," Vaschel reminded, tossing his silver hair behind his head indignantly. "Now she'll just be pissed off that I asked you."

Negatory whimpered audibly, laying her head unnoticed on Vaschel's shoulder. Of course—more arguing about things she was left out of.

"You're such an ingrate! …And you're sloshed! Ugh, take better care of yourself, you've got circles under your eyes!" Dawnn growled. Generally genial and patient, Vaschel had a special knack for getting under his skin.

And the feeling was mutual. "As if you're in any place to judge! By the light, I'd love to knock your teeth out," Vaschel snarled arrogantly in return.

"All right! Stand up! Let's—" Dawnn started, but stopped short. All at once the ire drained from his expression. He bent his knees and tilted his head slightly, then actually smiled.

"The hell is wrong with you?" Vaschel demanded, only irritated more by the dropped threat.

"Hush!" Dawnn ordered, but did not break his grin. "Negatory's sleeping."

Vaschel turned his head carefully, then threw his arm around the little rogue just in time to save her head from rolling off his shoulder. Sure enough, she was out like a light. Despite all of his best efforts to hold onto his combative mood, he could not help but crack a light smirk of his own. "Even in the middle of all that."

"That's Negatory for ya."

*END CHAPTER 13: SULKING*

~BEGIN: DISCUSSION~

So evidently there was some confusion as to what the fuck Angel was. This was frustrating, because I knew exactly what I was talking about—but strangely enough everyone else who read it, including my beta reading bf, got confused. I just figured that maybe he was stupid, but since everyone got confused, the problem must be the story xD

Angel is half-elf, half-human. There.

To fix the initial problem, I went back and mended her description so future readers won't be confused. As always, when I change something, there's a LAST REVISED note at the bottom. You guys don't need to go back and reread since that's all I changed and I just told you all you need to know. But if you wanna reread, I encourage it. =3 Go on, start over, see how far Negate's come.

This chapter took me forever to get done—two weeks and a couple days. The next chapter I can't really predict, sorry. I have a heavy tendency to finish on weekends, and I'd like to have it done by this Friday, but since this one got done late, maybe the NEXT weekend will be more likely. So. Just under two weeks is a good estimate—but maybe earlier, maybe later. Next chapter should be the final chapter in Brill, but then I thought this one was going to be too… xD

**-Joseph: **Aww. Lisys+Negate are your favorite people? =3 They're cute together na? /me said blablablabla doesn't work I thought.

**-Ren: **I'd be scared too xD I'd probably scream bloody murder. Lisys is TOUGH though! In her own way. You shouldn't fret, my dear, for all will be revealed eventually! As you can see, Negate did not fall for the same trick twice xDD And the death knights are crazy—Saiynt In the normal crazy way and Sihner in that he's psychopathically uncaring at times :R Persnally I think Saiynt is really cute in her own way. But I'm biased.

I have a holy priest! I'm god-awful at her though. I trust you're better? XD

Phasilica is one of my favorites too! I can't wait until Negate/Lisys hit Silvermoon, then I can use her more. :R

**-Escalus: **Mmmyeees, those pretty buttelf men. Sooo pushy xD

Now, I'm not disagreeing with you here—Dawnn can be a momma's boy. But I'm just not really sure this chapter expresses it much. I mean, attempting to preserve someone's life is really the bare minimum you can hope for after bringing them into the world in the first place xD

Yes, Cevian is kind of an asshole. And it is genetic xD Avarett is a good guy xDD You'll see more of him in future FBs.

Did that last line make you lol? XD

Now since I can ask you anything… how about this: alliance culture. Wtf is wrong with it. On the Horde, it's generally a do for mages/priests/paladins to buff anyone they see who's standing still for a while if you're close, and then they usually say thank you. On the alliance, I never see anyone buff anyone else and when my bf or I do it, no one says thank you. The alliance is full of prick bastards! Why!?

Your country is the UK? Yeah that makes sense xD

Oh dear, you sure did stay up late xD Finish this? Holy shit that will take a LONG time.

~END: DISCUSSION~


	15. Chapter 14

//LETTER: LISYS TO DEATHGUARD OLIVER

Oliver,

Please don't throw this away!

I've been working with Negate now for something like five days—Really, it all runs together… anyway, he invited me to see his city with him. I know you said I could never fit in in a place like that, and I'm certain you're right, but I'm still looking forward to it. I'm sure the details aren't really important to you, so I'll stop rambling, but I'll write you again when I get there.

The real reason I wrote is to ask you a question, so please reply… the other day, Negate asked my last name and it occurred to me that I only remember 'Grind'. I know that it's all my fault we didn't work… but it really, really bothers me that I don't recall. I hate bothering you but please, please remind me?

[_several messy, smeared scribbles_]

Thank you

Lisys

*BEGIN: CHAPTER 14*

//SET LOCATION: TIRISFAL GLADES

At this point, the sun—from what Negate could tell in this dreadful place—had forced its way over the horizon and was now fighting to pierce the plague-induced green haze that blanketed the sky. Honestly, Tirisfal Glades was only marginally more cheerful in the daylight than in the evening, but even so it felt good to him to have their hours straightened out.

And just in time, too, for he and his unfortunate-looking traveling partner were on their way to the North-East most corner of the unhappy country to deliver the annihilation of Captain Melrache, the last Scarlet Crusade leader listed within the secret documents Lisys swiped while, eh, _consuming _Mevin Korgal. This-outpost was quite the hike, plus they expected to be met with difficulty, and Negate had promised his sister he'd return tomorrow afternoon—an appointment he would not break. The extra time would be necessary.

"I think it's safe to say that Jibreel and Ex have it out for us—we'll likely see them again and they will probably be expecting us. You understand that, don't you?" Negate asked the Forsakenness beside him calmly. When she did not answer, he tore his eyes away from the sickly sky to gaze instead at her. "Lisys?"

"Hm? Oh, yes, of course," the undead mumbled ,forcing herself to return the eye contact briefly before dropping her gaze to the road.

Negate continued to watch her with a cross of suspicion and curiosity. "That woman scares you, doesn't she?"

"Yeah, they all do a little, but… especially her…" Lisys answered in a quiet, forlorn tone without looking up.

"I don't see why!" cackled Jublop with a cruel smirk as he trotted along behind the pair. Knowing he'd be necessary at some point, Negate took the trouble of summoning Jublop immediately outside of Brill. Since the incident at the mills, Jublop had, for the most part, made a point to behave, at least as much as an imp could. Still, he couldn't resist a stab at Lisys—too easy a target.

"Yeah, because I'm so ugly they should just give up as soon as they lay eyes on me, right?" Lisys asked with a dark laugh, shaking her head. "Of course if it doesn't work that way for you, why should it for me?" she ventured almost hatefully.

"For your information, by demonic standards, I am an epic beauty," the imp cackled with a pose much in the same way as his master.

A sudden rustling in the bushes drew all attention to their right. Beneath them, the path had begun to thin, in some places missing several stones all together, and was hopelessly over-grown with moss and creeping vegetation. Here, out of the way of the main road, there were no patrolling guards, no wandering visitors, now traveling vendors, no… anyone. The atmosphere was quiet, lonely, then shattered all at once.

"What the hell?" Negate groaned impatiently leaning forward to part the shrubs for the sake of investigation.

"Eek!" Fabricate squealed, launching herself upward to throw her arms around the warlock's neck so quickly it appeared as if the bush had spit her out. "Thank the sun! I've been hiding in that bush for ages! I—oh! It's you two!"

"Oh, it's _her,_" Lisys concurred at almost the exact same time.

"Well, you're done hiding now," Negate scoffed, gently pushing the mage away. "Perhaps you ought to hunt somewhere else," he added as he turned back to the road dismissively. Jublop trotted behind his master, sparing Fabricate only a rude gesture.

Lisys started to follow him away but paused, looking Fabricate over briefly. The night before, the elf looked vivacious and pretty—only the latter was true now.

"Wait!" Fabricate cried, stumbling after Negate but stopping short to lean on Lisys instead. "You can't just leave me here—that necromancer will get me!" she squealed.

"Easy! Dark shadow, are you feeling all right?" Lisys asked, allowing Fabricate to use her arm to steady herself.

"Necromancer?" Negate paused, turning to lift his eyebrows at the other elf. "Honestly! You're delirious!"

"I did see one! A very, very powerful, _scary _necromancing witch!" she insisted, clutching the undead harder. "Ohh, you must take me with you!"

Without thinking, Lisys succumbed to a stab of sympathy and wrapped her arm around the woman, helping her along. "Don't worry! We won't let her get you! Are you ill? You feel so weak."

She nodded, bending her head forward. "I can't get enough magic in this place… it's agony…" she mumbled. Lisys could see shiny, dark circles under her eyes as she spoke until her hair fell forward to conceal her face, and her shame.

Negate stared at the women as they caught up, mouth slightly agape. "Lisys, you can't be serious! … We are not allowing this vapid _thing _to come with us! She isn't trust-worthy!"

Lisys paused, too, with a wince. In light of Fabricate's whimpers, she'd forgotten about that entirely, and now she felt quite foolish for it. But even with the reminder, she could not help her own nature. "But… she's scared. What if we make her _promise _not to try anything?"

"I promise, I promise!" Fabricate whined.

"Crazy and brave," Negate scoffed, shaking his head. "Lisys, listen. We can't believe a word she says. She might swear up and down that she will not cause us harm, and at the time she speaks, it might be true. But she isn't well. She's hurting for magic—literally hurting for it, she said so herself—she's unpredictable. By the sunwell, I'm surprised I didn't see it coming," he exhaled, disappointed with himself. He, of all people, should know a thing or two about unstable women.

Lisys turned to look at Fabricate wearily, who returned her gaze with one of pathetic beseeching, before looking back to Negate. "But…"

"_And, _she is a very skilled manipulator, which is clearly what she is trying to do now," Negate added pointedly.

"You _would _say that about me _now, _since I'm sure Claire Willower would be up for another go—I'm useless to you now, aren't I?" accused Fabricate cleverly, watching Lisys's reactions very closely out the corner of her eyes.

"This has nothing to do with _use_!" Negate insisted, outraged.

Lisys exhaled and shifted her arm's position around Fabricate, as if the women was suddenly heavier than she'd remembered. "Negate, what is she talking about, 'another go'?"

"Ahh…" Negate quickly turned his eyes to Lisys, tripping over his own thoughts. It wasn't that the truth was so awful, he and Claire were two consenting adults and they used his own bed, after all. The issue was that he'd already lied.

A soft smirk overtook Fabricate's deep red lips. _Bingo_.

"She didn't exactly '_lose something_,' did she, Negate?" Lisys asked with a tone that suggested she wasn't pleased, but wasn't surprised either.

The warlock shot Fabricate a glare before answering. "…No, not really. But that has nothing to do with Fabricate! She's a liability! Claire wasn't dangerous, from what I could tell."

"From what you could tell," Lisys repeated with a heavy exhale and a nod. "Honestly, Negate, I can't leave her here if she's ill. You said that I wouldn't be worth any magic to her, so I should be fine—as long as she stays away from you, no one is in any real peril, right?"

"What about me!?" Jublop screeched angrily, rubbing his neck. He still hurt from the last time this half-wretched strangled him to death for his magic.

"What _about_ you?" Lisys scoffed, shooting Jublop an angry stare. "As far as I'm concerned, she can have you."

"Oh, you're so ugly, but you sure are sweet! If you ever want to experiment with another woman, I promise I won't kill you~! You are saving me from the necromancer, after all!" Fabricate cooed, nuzzling Lisys's cheek between the leather straps.

Negate growled, but did not protest Fabricate's presence further. They didn't really have time to argue—it seemed as she was joining the party, like it or not. "There isn't any necromancer! You were strung-out and seeing things," he insisted.

Lisys's natural smile widened a fraction as the elfin woman's warm nose rubbed the side of her face. "I'm afraid I must agree with Negate on this one—unless she was one of The Dark Lady's."

"I really did see her, and she was definitely Scourge," Fabricate retorted snottily. "Oh, and she was a wicked-looking thing, too, surrounded by rotting corpses of dead men walking that responded to her every whim with no clear comprehension of it."

Lisys gave a hard shudder, involuntarily pulling the female elf closer to her as she supported her weight. The description seemed accurate enough. "That sounds awful…"

The trio approached a drop-off, where the road was enclosed by a steep cliff ascending to one side, and a steep decline on the other, the latter of which was supported by a stone wall topped off by heavy lumber. It was not the type of fall that would cause death, but it afforded a clear view of the land below for a good mile, infested with dark hounds and vampire bats. Even with the noontime sun, the area was ominous—though the sun accounted for little by way of light, anyhow.

Despite Fabricate's known tendencies, Lisys was relieved to have someone to hold onto.

"So how did you happen to run across this fantasy undead witch?" Negate questioned while absently delivering a kick to Jublop's head for attempting a break for the drop-off.

"Well, I was in the area… since you wouldn't come with me… stealing magic from the zombies," Fabricate confessed in a way that suggested this lowly act was actually Negate's fault for refusing his own source.

"Hm! Brilliant idea, there," snickered Negate rudely.

Lisys frowned quietly—even she thought it sounded foolish, and she wasn't quite sure what stealing magic entailed. Adding to her displeasure, leaving the steep drop-off the terrain became notably rocky and mountainous, a symbol they were approaching their destination… and another encounter with Jibreel. "Fabricate, with all due respect… wouldn't magic be easier for you to find at home? I mean, in Quel'Thalas?"

"It would," she muttered, chewing her lip.

"Then…?"

"I'm… actually banished," answered the elf nervously.

"Of course you are!" Negate laughed darkly.

"Negate!" Lisys snapped with a hint of pleading, shooting him a glare before turning back to Fabricate. "Don't you have any family? Anyone that can help you?"

"I had… my brother…" Fabricate confessed quietly, hanging her head once more.

"Had?" Lisys questioned, tilting her own.

"Had, until one day the pain became unbearable and she slaughtered him, isn't that right?" Negate asked pointedly, never once turning around to face the women, as looking to her might strain his eyes.

"Negate!" Lisys repeated, clenching her free hand into a tiny fist.

"Actually, it was self-defense, for your information!" Fabricate spat, leaving Lisys temporarily to approach the warlock threateningly. She did not make it far without the undead's support, however, and Lisys hurried to both catch her and hold her back.

"So he was as lost as you?" Negate asked insensitively, a question he'd never hear the answer to, for shortly after he'd uttered the last syllable a harrowing war-cry sounded as, of all things, a meaty orc with bluish skin and no hair to speak of rushed the pair, arms flailing.

"Who is that!?" Fabricate squealed, eyes wide. It wasn't as if she'd never seen an orc before, but this young example seemed brutish even by the most hardened warrior's standards.

"I have no idea," Negate answered, temporarily setting aside his hatred for the pretty mage in the confusion.

"It's Beatstick," Lisys answered with certainty, though her voice seemed a bit dazed from her own surprise. "We watched wolves chase him around in Deathknell."

"…Sunwell, _him_!? Can't believe he's still alive!" Negate scoffed as he recalled, though with limited clarity, witnessing the very same orcish warrior charge more creatures than he could handle at once, then turn and flee when he realized he couldn't possibly take them all. "We never did figure out how such a novice ended up here…"

"You two attract such strange company," Fabricate mused.

"Heeey! Me know you guys!" the orc shouted as he approached, an angry scowl on his face.

"I told you we should have helped him," Lisys muttered with a scowl.

Beatstick stopped beside the trio, arms folded as he scowled amongst them angrily. Though slouching his stature was impressive, taller than Negate and wider than all three of them put together. "Me killed wolves in tiny town! You cut wolves up! You no share meat!"

Negate's mouth twitched. "You didn't kill anything, you ran away becau—"

"Shut up!" the orc snarled, leaning forward so that Negate was forced a step back. Confrontational from the beginning, Negate's manner did not improve Beatstick's mood. "Me slaughter many creatures… For the Horde! Me great warrior! Will crush you! Will--!… oh, pretty…"

"Excuse me!?" Negate snarled, at first certain the orc was still addressing him, before a giggle from Lisys prompted him to trace the orc's gaze. Beatstick had, in fact, turned his attention to Fabricate.

"Well, thank you," the mage returned, albeit a bit snotty.

A vampiric smile tugged at the corners of the warlock's lips. "Ahh… Beatstick, how would you like to escort this pretty elf to the Undercity?"

"Me?" the barbarian questioned stupidly, pointing at his own chest symbolically.

"What!?" Fabricate demanded, a near-whimper behind her shock.

Lisys looked the orcish warrior up and down thoughtfully before nodding her ascent. "Actually, Fabricate, it's a good idea… Negate and I are here to take care of Captain Melrache of the Scarlet Crusade—you're in no shape to help, but we can't really leave you, either—"

"Says you," Negate snorted.

"—and at the least, Beatstick can serve as a… distraction… if you need any protecting. Once you're in the Undercity, perhaps you can find some magic to quell your hurt?" Lisys offered, completely ignoring Negate for the time being.

"Perfect! We'll give you this pretty tart, and then we can call the Death Knell incident even, deal?" Negate offered the orc charismatically.

Beatstick's eyes reflected great contemplation as the gears slowly grinded away at the offer. When the situation finally clicked, a broad smile surfaced on his face and he nodded vigorously.

"Okay with you?" Lisys questioned Fabricate sympathetically. "I really believe it's the best course of action…"

"I, but…" Fabricate glanced at the warrior with something like horror on her face.

"Hardly matters whether it is or not, she'll either go with him or stand around and wait for someone else to come for her because we're leaving her here, either way," Negate declared, symbolically waving his hands of the situation as he started down toward the path.

"I hope this brute strangles _you_ to death!" Jublop declared with a triumphant smile in Fabricate's direction before scurrying after his master.

"Wait!" Lisys shouted, transferring a very defeated, and very weary, blood elf mage to Beatstick's arm before jogging after Negate herself, a heavy frown set hard beneath thick leather straps obscuring her eyes. "What is the matter with you!?"

Negate lifted his eyebrows questioningly. "Mm? Well, I'm relieved to be rid of her, but still a bit anxious to get Captain Melrache over with, I suppose… We are close, by the way, so keep a look out."

"That's not what I meant! You were so rude!" Lisys insisted, brushing off his advice, although he was correct: they had well passed the Scarlet Monastery, the tower would be within sight likely just around the next bend.

"To her? Honestly! The woman tried to kill me! But even so, I'll readily admit that I have no sympathy for the wretched. She's well on her way," Negate scoffed almost nonchalantly.

"What do you mean '_wretched_'?" Lisys questioned in open curiosity, though her discontent did not waver.

"Ugly mutations of my race… disgusting little creatures that will attack anything in sight, their own family, even… for the even the tiniest drip of mana. They've been known to steal unstable sources and recklessly endanger entire populations for their own self-induced suffering! If that woman meets her end before the transformation is complete, I honestly believe it would be better—for her as well as her potential victims spared," explained the warlock, at times in a slow, low tone that conveyed the deep hatred he clearly harbored for the subject matter.

The undead found herself almost stunned, but completely understanding. The way he described them made his relationship to the wretched sound similar to hers with the Scourge. "I… see… how does one become wretched?"

"They lose control of their addiction," he returned plainly.

"So… that means it could happen to you?" Lisys furrowed her eyebrows unhappily.

"Hm! If it did, I should say I deserve every unkindness I'd paid her, if not more."

"No! That's not… You went too far, Negate. Commenting on her brother was uncalled for and served no purpose. It was wrong," Lisys insisted, startling even herself as she recalled, with heated agitation, how her partner had accused Fabricate of ending her own brother's life.

Undaunted, Negate shook his head. "Assuming she was telling us the truth, anyhow."

The undead girl went quiet at that, a maelstrom of unhappiness swirling around her skull, until finally the pressure of thought was too much and she bent her head, obscuring her face. "You're so mean…" she exhaled quietly, filled not so much with anger, but heavy disappointment. She wanted to think kindly of him, but she would quickly grow weary of his constant barrage of hostility and malice was wearing. Did he really have to behave like _this _so soon after stabbing her in the heart the night before?

"Ras garde hamerung nud nud valesh noth Hir dur dana bor!" shouted a distinctly human voice as blue ball of energy whizzed past Negate's head, narrowly clipping and freezing the tips of his ears.

"Agh! They've guards this far out!?" Negate growled, turning irately in the direction from which the frost bolt came. There stood a female mage, older, proudly displaying the Scarlet's colors, with another such weapon charging between her hands.

The warlock lifted his hands, implanting the unholy curses that would suck her life away while he simultaneously snatched her soul. "Lisys—scout ahead—just follow the road—and find Captain Melrache. He'll likely be guarded, so turn back for me once you've found him," Negate closed his hand around a purple crystalline shard as Jublop felled the unfortunate crusader with a fireball. "Take out anyone standing alone, it'll make clearing the way quicker, okay?"

The undead watched the mage's body collapse listlessly before nodding. "Sure. It shouldn't take me long," she muttered, still contemplative as she took a quiet step back, then another, dissolving steadily into the shadows until she had removed herself from sight.

Negate bent to loot the woman's corpse, as was standard practice, as Lisys faded away. Standing, he turned this way and that, a light frown tugging on his mouth. "How strange. It's lonely without her," he muttered.

Unhappiness clear in her sway, Lisys traveled silently down the very center of the road, footfalls so noiseless it was as if she trod air instead of stone. She passed several friars, vanguards, and neophytes, and while she was careful to avoid their direct gaze, they did not take notice of her. Like an apparition, the unholy dark of the sickly air shrouded her body and, likewise, consumed her thoughts.

When she was a classless, ordinary citizen she would have traded anything—money, blood, vital organs—to hide like this from the outside world. It was certainly more effective than cowering in the bottom of Nadia's closet, praying for some divine miracle, or even a swift, painless death—anything, _anything _to avoid another _accident. _

Lisys forced her thoughts back to the task at hand, stopping just short of a great, crumbling tower, once a sea-side watch post for Lordaeron, now over-taken by the Scarlet Crusade. A great, ruined Alliance banner still hung from the rotting structure's roof—or what once was a roof—adding drama to the history surrounding the area. With the quiet caution the operation deserved, Lisys carefully ascended the ill-crafted stone ramp, keeping herself as low to the ground as possible as she took a peak inside.

A dark-skinned man, bald as Beatstick, stood humorously between two bodyguards, in proud red mail armor. "Locating him was easy enough… and he's not so guarded as Negate implied… maybe this won't be so tough, after all," Lisys mused, turning to head back toward Negate. Instead, before she'd even completed the turn, the heavy smash of a sword connected with the base of her skull and sent her sprawling across the stone, fizzling back into view by the time she hit the ground.

"_How uncanny! I had just finished praying for the souls of your victims," _Jibreel announced, raising a brand new shield as she took another demonstrative swing with her sword. "_This has gone on so long already—I sincerely apologize, but it ends now!"_ she snarled, speaking in exaggerated tones of utter hatred. Lisys could not understand, or even recognize the language with certainty, but she understood her meaning full well.

A harsh bolt of chill collided with the undead immediately after, painfully freezing her muscles and contracting her tendons, so much that it was a fight to stand up. She cast a glance behind her to see Ex, Jibreel's infamous partner, standing from a vantage point atop the fortified wall and preparing another of the same, then stared back into the cold, hardened eyes of the young holy warrior. The situation could not be helped. Forcing down unhappy, lingering musings of her past and present, she unsheathed her dagger and lunged for Jibreel, the closer target.

Jibreel rose her shield and easily deflected, striking the wounded Forsaken again with her sword. "_I hope you're ready to die again!" _she snarled, high-set determination mingling with abhorrence.

"I will not make this easy for you!" Lisys growled in return, slashing lower, this time at the woman's stomach.

A short distance away, Negate rounded the bend through the rocky hills just in time for Jibreel's shout of pain to pierce his ears as his eyes settled first on the wounded Lisys, slashing like a hellcat, then at Jibreel, who would be a tough opponent by herself, then to Ex, who was conjuring another nasty ball of ice to hurl at the unfortunate Forsakenness.

With Lisys clearly disadvantaged by being second to strike, wounded, and out-numbered, Negate first worried about removing Ex's line of sight. Hiking his robes so that he could run faster and with greater caution, he sprinted up the nice incline created in the wall by erosion near the tower's entrance, and from there he dashed along the top of the crumbling stone wall, tackling his much-hated rival right off the side of the tower, effectively but inefficiently interrupting his spell.

A sharp cry, followed by a cackle, caused both women to turn around just in time to see a fiery, mischievous imp hop the wall where Ex once stood. It took only moments for either woman to piece the events together: a certain two spell casters just took a nasty fall.

Jibreel's eyes widened a fraction as concern temporarily over-powered her thirst for vengeance, and she spun wildly to rush around the tower's outskirts, toward the back. "Janelle! Janelle!" she shouted with an overwhelming sense of urgency. She'd scarcely made it half way around the building when the deafening pain of a small, but precise incision to the back of her neck, almost so deep it threatened her vertebrae, stopped her in her tracks, temporarily paralyzing her.

Lisys did not anticipate surviving this battle, but if another became involved on Jibreel's side, it'd be over twice as quickly. "You're not through with me, yet!" she reminded, releasing Jibreel from the paralysis with another blast of pain in the form of a hard stab between her shoulders.

Meanwhile, Negate and Ex had landed very tediously on a ledge—jarring, but not fatal—and narrowly escaped rolling downward further as they scrambled away from one another.

"_Are you crazy!?_" Ex snarled, gasping and clutching his ribs, certain the fall had at least cracked one.

Negate spit blood out the side of his mouth, wasting no time dragging his bruised body to a stand, raising his hands to introduce fel magics within the mage, like poking holes in his veins to watch his life force slip away. "Shut up- no talking. I can't understand you, anyway," he snarled.

With a return sneer, Ex drew from the much lighter forces of the elements to charge another frost bolt, panting with effort. They were both injured to the same extent thus far, but as a burning-hot ball of flame seared his shoulder and nearly threw him off balance, he was woefully reminded of the imp's presence—things weren't looking good for him, until all at once his cuts and bruises mended themselves and his cracked ribs reset as the familiar, lulling feeling of a burst of light erupted within his insides.

Negate saw and sensed the change immediately, lowering his hands to release his soul drain as he turned his headed back up to the tower ahead. "There's a priest around here somewhere!" he snarled, outraged.

Having lost his major disadvantage, Ex almost leisurely smacked Negate in the back with the chilled ball, watching the frost spread over Negate's skin from the inside. "_What's this!? What happened to that cocky son of a bitch I fought last time, mm?" _He snickered, smacking Negate once with his staff, just for fun, before channeling a ball of fire to keep things interesting.

xwx

"Now this is a little bizzah…" Saiynt muttered, poking the corpse of what was once a Scarlet Vanguard with the toe of her heavy boot. "This dead bitch is what, numbah fahve? Shiiiit, the Scarlet Crusade 'rount here own't take very good care 'a themselves…"

Slightly behind her, Sihner looked the body over uninterestedly, before a loud, but grossly over-exaggerated, clang sounded as a sword collided with dark, heavy plate armor. Without turning around he reached behind him, wrapping thick, cold fingers around a tiny wrist to drag the perpetrator around front of him—another female Vanguard—and in the same motion, toss her at the ground atop the body.

"But I guess they're all kinda stupid, ain't they?" Saiynt asked, grinning broadly with a wave to the crusader as she started to stand once more.

"Yes," Sihner assented, watching the girl scramble away and flee down the embankment, where she'd likely meet her end, anyway.

Saiynt turned back toward the road, eyes scanning all around them as they approached a large, but rotting, tower—the outpost itself. "Daymn! It's like a ghost town, this ain't no fuckin' fun! Cain't even burn the fuckin' tower, cuz it ain't wood," she observed with a snarl, just about ready to declare the area mischief-proof and therefore worthless when a faint, muffled sound, like that of a demonic cackle from far off reached her ears.

"Hmmm?" Frustration beginning to wane as curiosity took over, Saiynt hurried forward, avoiding the tower's opening out of desire to conserve time more than out of fear of its inhabitants. More sounds, most notably whimpers of pain and gasps of desperation—which are among Saiynt's favorite sounds—guided her ears to the very outside wall. Confusion overtook her for a moment before an idea spawned and she grabbed onto the rotting stones, scaling the wall with great difficulty caused by heavy plate armor and the massive sword on her back. After sliding twice, she was finally able to push her face over the top… and giggle deliriously at what she saw.

"Ey, Sihner! Look! 'iss elf's gonna die!"

Sihner, who had already begun to follow her leisurely, did not quicken his pace, but came to stand by her as he would have naturally, anyhow. He lacked real interest, but stood on his toes to look over the wall in the interest of satisfying her request. He glanced the scene over, fell back to his heels carelessly, then started and grabbed the side of the wall to look over the side again.

"No, he isn't," Sihner answered.

"Ee's not?" Saiynt questioned, gazing at Sihner confusedly. She'd already run just about every likely outcome of the battle through her twisted mind—and every single one resulted in the death of the elfin warlock. "Why?"

"Because I owe his father a debt," Sihner answered, turning his head to his right, looking past Saiynt. They weren't alone watching this battle—a young priestess was in the midst of calling forth the light, likely to heal the Crusader Mage opposite the warlock.

"The heyll for!?" Saiynt groaned, hopes dashed.

"You." Sihner walked around the smaller knight, toward the priestess who was so wrapped up in her work she did not even hear his heavy footfalls, though he did not attempt to disguise his approach at all. Though she stood atop the wall at its highest point, she was still not exactly out-of-reach. Again rising to the balls of his feet, he snatched a hold of her left ankle and in the same motion, yanked her feet from beneath her and dragged her to the ground.

With a short-lived scream her face bashed the stone on the way down, producing a gruesome splash of blood, and then another when her body hit the floor even with the death knight's feet. Scarcely stopping to survey the damage, he dragged the unfortunate victim by the same ankle, leaving a trail of bloody skull fragments.

"I ain't hangin' round to wat'cha save no elf," Saiynt scoffed as he passed her again. "I'mma go visit the _othuh _side of the tower," she grumbled.

Sihner let her go, flattening his back against the outside wall of the tower, side-stepping along the narrow ledge of land upon which the tower was precariously perched, until the epic battle of the spell casters raged nearly directly below him.

"Ex."

His voice was not so much loud as commandeering, so much that it cut straight through the heated concentration of both men below and they turned their gaze upward almost instantly.

Recognition was immediate—for both men. "_You!" _Negate and Ex cried simultaneously, albeit in different languages, before they briefly gazed back to one another, each wondering about the other's connection to the death knight.

Sihner paid their revelation no mind, unenthusiastically drop-kicking the body down over the drop-off, where it landed on a ledge just below Negate and Ex with a sickening crack before bouncing and rolling down further.

"J… Janelle!?" Ex gasped, feeling his heart compress with a pain far deeper than a curse of agony.

"_If you can find the body, perhaps she can be resurrected_," Sihner advised before turning listlessly away, walking back along the narrow ledge of land—much easier without the young priestess's dead weight.

"_You should have stayed dead_," Ex growled before turning his back to the warlock carelessly, scrambling down the ledge to search for Janelle, lest her body be claimed by the near-by sea.

"Who the hell is that?" Negate frowned, staring after the knight. Briefly he considered chasing after Ex, but he couldn't concern himself with that stupid mage while he couldn't be sure if Lisys was all right or not. Thinking that vengeance is petty anyhow, he hurried up the embankment, opposite Ex's direction.

xwx

Saiynt rounded the corner of the crumbling tower, dropping agitation for smug pleasure as the familiar sound of steel clashing with steel resonated in her head, followed by the immediate visual of Lisys—her own very Lisys—colliding with her own very Jibreel. Whatever the educated minds insisted, this solidified Saiynt's long held belief that _Azeroth ain't rilly that big._

A hard knock from Jibreel's sword forced Lisys down onto the ground, and against the wall. To make matters worse, she lost her grip on her dagger and heard it clang quite some distance away. This was it, the head start she'd forged on Lisys with Ex was too much to over-come. With a whimper, the Forsakenness covered her face with her arms, only relieved that Negate could not scold her for her failure, and waited… and… waited?

Jibreel stared at Lisys in front of her, hesitating to even raise her sword. She'd killed undead before, but mostly wandering zombies, never a Forsaken. Of course as a Crusader it was required that she not see the difference, but she honestly couldn't help it. This was not how she imagined her revenge on this woman—despite the exposed joints, the ominous leather obscuring evil eyes, the exposed and sharpened teeth, Lisys seemed so… human.

Pridelessly, Jibreel finally rose the steel to end the pitiful woman's life, but before she could the action was cut off as the vice grip of a steely hand encircled her throat, forcibly turning her around.

"Shhhh," Saiynt whispered, barely a step above merely mouthing the words. "I a'ready spared yah once, so I'll do it igen—but'cha gotta be quiet, kay?" Without waiting for an answer she, despite actually being a fraction smaller than Jibreel, lifted her feet off the ground and took several quiet steps away.

Now fully supported by her throat, Jibreel struggled to speak. "ss… spared… me? D… I…know… you?" she rasped.

"Not persna'lly, nah," Saiynt answered, relatively certain they were out of earshot. She wrapped her other hand around Jibreel's throat likewise, squeezing firmly. "Til next time!"

Jibreel wrapped her own fingers around the deathknight's cold, boney fingers, struggling and gasping until she slipped out of consciousness, and Saiynt let her fall easily to the stone.

"Stay down!" Saiynt ordered pointedly before turning, mood shifting to absolute giddiness, as she crept back toward Lisys.

The rogue in question had since risen to her feet again, turning her head this way and that in open confusion. Just a second ago she was certain she would die, and then her would-be murderer just disappears into thin air?

Saiynt approached her quietly from behind, maintaining her silence until she was just close enough… to attack! In one swift, easy motion she threw both arms around Lisys's waist, jerking the other Forsakenness unto herself with an excited squeal. "Ahfound you! Ah found you!"

Lisys loosed a surprised half-scream, eyes widening to the size of dinner plates so that they were almost visible around the leather. She examined the arms around her with a combination of disdain and shock. "Wh--!? What--!?"

"Aieee! Yes, yes! Who is 'iss mysterious agent of destruction round' you 'ta hold still, na? Guess! Guess!" Saiynt encouraged, rubbing her cheek against Lisys's, dripping with affection.

Lisys whimpered in both fear and shyness, completely unaware of how to act until out the corner of her eye she caught a glimpse of acid-colored hair as the other woman snuggled her.

"s…s… Saiynt? Y… did you…? Jibreel…?"

"At'sright! I saved you, so you owe me, idn't 'at 'ow it works?! I know what ah want, do you!?" Saiynt asked, near quivering with excitement.

"Oh… oh my…" Lisys whimpered.

"Yeaaah~! Now git on the ground!" Saiynt ordered, pushing Lisys forward onto the stone a bit roughly.

The rogue stumbled a step before falling forward, catching herself on her elbows. "But, Saiynt--! I--! Here!? Really!?" she whined, scarcely able to roll over before Saiynt jumped on her, careful to land on her hands and knees over the other woman as opposed to on top of her.

"Yesss, heuh! Ahhh, you're soooo cuuute…" Saiynt mumbled, lowering her voice significantly as she playfully bit at the studded leather that covered Lisys's face.

"S- Saiynt!" Lisys gasped, her voice cracking as the other woman's chilled breath splashed over her face. "S~orr~y I did- didn't recog- nize you…" she half-squealed as she alternated between squirming and laying completely rigid.

"Awwooh, baby, own't worry 'bout' nothin' ' trivial like 'at, last I saw ya, we was livin—'s a bit change," she cooed forgivingly, trailing kisses down from her face to her jaw to her neck.

"Wh-what? N-, no, Saiynt… the last time was…" Lisys finally squirmed successfully out from beneath the death knight, scrambling backward just before Saiynt's lips hit her collar bone. Pushing herself up on her elbows, she watched the other woman's acid hair as she kept her head bent, staring at the stones disappointedly. "Don't… you remember?"

"Remembah what?" Saiynt asked, tilting her face up to stare directly at Lisys for the first time since their reunion a mere few minutes ago.

A harrowing despair latched onto Lisys's dead heart. "You're… a death knight…"

"Remembah whaaat!?" Saiynt insisted, patience lacking among her _many _virtues, as she tried to recall what Lisys could possibly be talking about. As she wracked her nearly every memory, an unfamiliar but very unpleasant pain gripped her quite suddenly, so much so that her knees and elbows weakened and with a muffled yelp she collapsed fully onto her stomach. She did not recognize the pain on experience, as this was the first time she'd felt it, but it'd been described to her before—a loud siren in her ears coupled with a severe headache, like someone cracked the base of her skull with a hammer and her brain was swelling as a result, compressing itself within her cranium.

Sihner was the one who'd told her about it first—it meant she was reaching for something that was no longer there, a memory that'd been walled off by their great, corrupt king. The only memory to date she'd ever found she was lacking.

"Saiynt!" Lisys gasped, scrambling back toward her on all fours, clearly distraught. "Are you okay!?"

"Nnn…" Steadily, by degrees, the pain subsided, and, still panting, Saiynt lifted herself once more. "Jus fine, baby—now where were we?" she smirked, licking the skin between the leather on Lisys's face playfully.

"Lisys!" Negate shouted, hurrying around the corner, then skidding to a messy stop against the wall. "Li—what the hell!?"

Saiynt glanced toward the elf angrily, then back to Lisys. "You _know _him!? Ugh!"

"Oh!" Lisys started, nodding.

Negate stared at Saiynt and Lisys, struggling to grasp the situation, before the heavy steps of another beside him stole his attention, and he turned to face the male death knight once more, the very same who'd saved his ass mere moments ago.

"You—again!" the warlock gasped, brushing away shock quickly. "Who are you? Why did you help me!?" he demanded, clearly and foolishly unintimidated by the heavy plated behemoth standing within striking distance.

The other man glanced at Negate as if he intended to answer, but looked away just as quickly, simultaneously with Saiynt, as if someone above them were speaking, but only they could hear it. Shortly after they both lowered their gaze once more, again at the same time.

"Daymn," Saiynt snarled angrily, pulling herself up to a stand. "Listen, baby, I att'a dip out, but we can play 'round' later, `kay?" she then flashed a broad, demented smile, before turning and leaving along side Sihner.

Negate and Lisys both watched them go silently for several moments. The Forsakenness was the first to move, pulling herself to her feet and closing the distance between herself and Negate.

"Are you… okay?" she asked shyly.

Negate completely ignored the question, too enthralled with the bizarre sequence of events that had just occurred. "Was…was that large-breasted death knight… flirting with you?"

Lisys sighed. Of course. "Oh, that's Saiynt. She's got a ridiculous sex drive—she hits on everyone."

"Oh, sunwell, I am on the wrong side," Negate muttered, nerves still a bit frazzled.

"The wrong side?"

"Yes, I give up. I'm joining the Scourge," Negate answered, turning to Lisys just in time to see a dramatic shift in her features. All this time, through all of his rudeness and insult, she had done her best to stay reserved, to keep within herself, not to bother him with her foolish fears or feelings, but this was too much.

All at once, as if Azeroth had caved in on top of her, the undead's expression broke, turning her natural smile into the very picture of despair. "No… don't… don't say that!" she insisted, balling her fists with her elbows bent only to straighten her arms suddenly for emphasis. "I… it's not fair… and… and Saiynt too? …not you, not…" she rose her hands again, cracking and flexing her fingers as if she desperately wanted to grab a hold of the elf, but was too afraid of the outcome. "Shadow, you're such a jerk, Negate, y… but I like you so, so much… and they always take… the Scourge, they have… so much of everything that matters to me…"

Negate watched her with open surprise, the ends of his ears twitching once before drooping over in response to her voice, cracking through her cries and whimpers so much that he scarcely understood her. "H… hey…"

When she did not respond, he grabbed the cold, boney ends of her fingers lightly, as to avoid the appearance of intrusion, with his much larger, living hands. Equal curiosity mingled with sadness as she finally tilted her head back to look at his face.

"I was only kidding—I'm not going anywhere, honest," he advised, sounding unnaturally understanding. "I hate the Scourge. Everyone hates the Scourge. You don't have to worry about that… that's silly."

Her eyes widened a fraction as the elf released her hands. Silently, she nodded.

"Now… I know it's bad timing, but we've still got a job to do. We can fill one another in later, but Melrache first, so we can get the hell out of here… Hey, look at the bright side, this should be nothing compared to Jibreel and Ex." Negate advised, motioning for her to follow him toward the tower's opening.

Lisys bounced after him. Her heart was still heavy for Saiynt, but—be it wicked of her—at the same time, she could not help but be very, _very _happy.

*END: CHAPTER 14*

_-LAST REVISION: 8-23-09_


	16. Chapter 15

*BEGIN: CHAPTER 15*

//SET LOCATION: NORTH EASTERN TIRISFAL GLADES

Opening chilly amber eyes, Jibreel surveyed her surroundings carefully, spirits sinking deeper as she observed blood stain after blood stain. Captain Melrache and his body guards were nowhere to be found. Even through the haze surrounding the shakey regain of consciousness, Jibreel's mind was quick to piece together the most likely sequence of events to reach an unfortunate conclusion: she failed. Again.

"Oh, you're awake! Gruesome in here, isn't it? Most of us are either dead or fled to the Monastery, but I understand a few are actually heading for Stormwind. I was waiting for you to wake so we could talk—" Ex almost rambled until she cut him off.

"I had her!" she snarled, a heavy current of anger possessing every muscle .

"Had… what?" Ex questioned, too startled by the outburst to be annoyed.

"The undead! The rogue—the reason I'm here! Korgal, Vachon, now Melrache!? Why did I hesitate? Why!? Why!? I had her! Just a few seconds quicker and--!" she clenched her fists and ground her teeth as, almost unwillingly, she rose to her knees with the most twisted of snarls plastered itself onto her lips, full of the purest hatred both internally and outwardly.

"What happened, exactly?" Ventured the mage next, inching away from where Jibreel sat cautiously. Best to let her have her space.

Almost completely ignoring her companion's presence, Jibreel slumped forward, barely catching herself on her elbows, to glare at the stones. "This can't be happening. I have to pay that witch back."

Instead of concern, or pity, or even irritation, Ex startled himself by instead succumbing to a great wave of fatigue. Some large percentage of his insides was exhausted, fed up, _done _with this girl's hard-line _determination, _or better, _foolishness. _How could an otherwise rational, intelligent woman like Jibreel not see that the time to let go was already way over-due?

But it seemed awfully pointless to explain to her that their lives—after countless close scrapes—should really be all that mattered. "You going to tell me what happened or not?"

Jibreel lifted her head and turned to the mage suddenly, as if noticing him for the first time, before nodding. "Give me a second…" she grumbled, pulling herself back to a sit, wincing with light soreness n the process. After several moments spent with her eyes closed, presumably gathering her thoughts, she filled him in.

"I was tussling with that stupid rogue when you disappeared over the ledge, as you probably knew. I was worried, of course, so I went to get help, but the little wench stopped me. You gave me a good head start, it should have been easy for me to take her out… there's no excuse, honest, but I hesitated… not sure why…" she lied, rubbing the back of her neck with an unsteady pause, before continuing, "…then this death knight, I swear out of nowhere—"

"You saw him too!?" Ex started, jerking himself to a stand as worry, previously missing, surged through his veins as his heart pumped furiously.

"Him?" Jibreel furrowed her eyebrows with confusion, then shook her head. "No, no. This was a woman, I'm certain of it."

The notion that Jibreel had confused her facts struck Ex briefly, but he dismissed it entirely an instant later. There was no mistaking Sihner Xanthic for a woman. "Go on."

"Light, Ex, it was strange. She grabbed me by the throat, I mean, lifted me bodily, and said she'd spare me… no, she said she'd spare me _again, _like she'd done it before, but I swear I'd never seen her in my life. Then… I lost consciousness… How about you?" Jibreel avoided gazing at her companion's eyes, honestly only asking to adhere to the expected pretense of politeness.

"Well, thanks to Janelle I was doing just fine, then Sihner showed up, and for reasons I'm still unsure of, taunted me with…" Ex paused, driving down a hard swallow that attracted Jibreel's full attention. "...Janelle's body before tossing her down the drop-off."

Her irises dilated so much that to hold her eyes open was painful, and she shut them quickly. "Did you…. Find her?"

"No," he returned quickly, like ripping off a band aid, but with all the heavy dissatisfaction the situation deserved.

Jibreel's thirst for vengeance tightened so quickly she could physically feel its dread, but she wisely forced the feeling back down. "Sihner… is that the actual name of the man who killed her?"

"Ah, yeah… death knight, actually," he added, picking nervously at the skin between his fingers.

"Ah—so there were two of them? Here? But why?" Jibreel demanded, her confusion only serving to add to the anger. "Why did you mention him so casually, like you knew him?"

Ex watched her a moment, as if unsure of how to approach an explanation. Discouraged by her demanding return stare, he forced his gaze back down. "Not personally, no—he's my uncle, and yours too, technically, I guess… but he was hanged when we were still kids," he explained, voice so low that Jibreel leaned forward to understand him.

"I don't remember," she answered, her gaze spurring for an explanation.

She received one. "That's because by the time it happened, Avery was dead and you'd been pawned off on Avarett. Actually… bear in mind that some of this is unconfirmed speculation from my asshole-brother… Sihner could have been the one to take you in, except that he'd just returned Jacob Andy's boys right before you showed up, and no one wanted to test his clear surplus of emotional availability," Ex scoffed sarcastically. "So that's how you ended up with Uncle Avery instead… for a while, anyway."

"What was he hanged for? …And what interest had he in Janelle?" Jibreel pressed.

"I have no idea what the hell that was all about, honestly. Before he tossed her, he told me that if I could find the body, it might be possible to bring her back—of course, I already knew that. It was very strange, like a diversion but… I can't imagine what from." Ex paused to give a hard shiver, wet his lips, then continued. "He was hanged for abetting a fugitive."

"Wh--? For just that..?"

"Ha, no ordinary fugitive. Surely you know about that?" Ex laughed, but when Jibreel did not share his humor, he thought best to explain himself. "Saiynt Cisneros?"

"Ah… Cisneros sounds familiar…" Jibreel muttered, ashamed of her own faulty memory while Ex could recall even fragmented speculation.

"Well, it should… Avarett probably mentioned Robert Cisneros to you at some point. It's a wonder he didn't mention Sihner Xanthic, unless he was trying to protect you, which wouldn't surprise me… they, Sihner, Avarett, and Robert, fought wars together, or some stupid adventure crap a squishy mage like me could never understand," Ex muttered, rolling his eyes to exaggerate his feelings on the situation.

"They were all well-bred paladins, then?" Jibreel assumed.

"Correct, and probably friends or at least close allies, until they broke up," the mage snorted.

"What happened between the three? I assume Saiynt Cisneros, the fugitive he aided, was related to Robert Cisneros?" the holy warrior ventured, rubbing her temples subconsciously. For her, a semi-solitary person, keeping so many names and relations straight was tough.

"What happened? Jaqlyn Crysys happened. She married Avarett, but appeared to prefer the company of his friends… if you know what I mean," this being his idea of a joke, Ex nudged Jibreel lightly, relieved that the ridiculousness of his family history could break his gloom.

"That explains it—in the five years I spent with Avarett, he mentioned his wife no more than twice and I never met her," Jibreel concurred, shooting the mage a glare in the light of his playful nudging.

Realizing she didn't share his humor, he went on quickly. "Saiynt was Robert's daughter. Robert was kind of weird, I guess… there were rumors that he went crazy or that he wasn't the same, but back in the day he was well-respected. Saved some noble's daughter from orcs or a lecher… depends on who tells the story… So when Saiynt lost it for reasons no one's quite sure of and slaughtered her father, her mother, and two sisters, there was an outcry."

Ex heaved a sigh, shaking his head. "Who knows. He certainly paid for it. By the time they caught up with the two, he was fallen, completely lightless. It shouldn't surprise me that he's a death knight…"

"Nor her, by the sounds of it," Jibreel added, certain at this point that the female death knight must have been Saiynt. Disdain for the unholy pair rose within her chest, nearly equaling the loathing she harbored for the warlock and rogue. Saiynt Cisneros and Sihner Xanthic: two names added to the list of those directly responsible for the deaths of those around her.

Ex nodded his agreement, watching another powerful touch of determination pass through his companion, which in turn caused another explosion of fatigue to wreak havoc on his insides. "I want to return to Stormwind," Ex announced suddenly, startling himself.

"…What?" Jibreel asked, a soft laugh in her voice as if she was certain he couldn't be serious.

"I mean it," he answered, this time strongly. "This land is lost, and what of it? They can keep it. Certainly not worth dying over. You and I… we've had too many close-calls as it is. It just doesn't make sense to keep pushing at this point. Janelle was a painful lesson…" he lowered his head quietly, never realizing how much sense his own internal process made until he said it out loud.

"Run home, then," Jibreel answered almost immediately, pulling herself to her feet. "I'm not done fighting."

The blonde scrambled up after her, the concern he was missing before finally finding him. "And what, get yourself killed over a few towns and some lost farms?"

"If I'm lucky," she scoffed darkly. "I'm off to the Monastery," and with that, she left him to himself.

He watched her walk away, every step reverberating in his ears as a quiet split in his heart throbbed painfully. He meant what he'd said—every word. This was a wicked path that could lead to nothing but their demise, and all for a cause he honestly no longer believed in. He wanted to cut his losses… but not her, and therein lay the problem. Despite all her stubborn foolishness, better_ utter stupidity, _he couldn't bring himself to give up on her yet.

Head hanging, he trailed after her.

//SET LOCATION: BRIGHTWATER LAKE

"You weren't kidding, Melrache was cake," Lisys chirped, bouncing along beside the elf without a care in all of Azeroth. The end of her dagger still carried hints of the unwashed carnage it'd seen during the course of her battle with Jibreel, then Melrache and is body guards. The last captain of the Crusade was dead, their final battle with Jibreel and Ex had been fought, and she'd likely never see those wretched humans again.

But more importantly, for the first time in a long time, she had friends… at least a couple, and in less than twenty-four hours' time, she'd be in Silvermoon City, the elfin capital of Quel'Thalas, the one place on Azeroth she never thought she'd go.

Negate, infamous for his sensitivity, was quick to pick up on a sudden, drastic change in her mood. From the time he woke her that morning—a tough feat, since evidently she hadn't slept well—all the way up to the encounter with the death knights, she had been gloomy, even for her. Now, as they walked side-by-side back to the inn, she was in the highest spirits he'd ever seen.

"I told you so."

Positively beaming, she nodded her head in agreement. "Mmhm! And you were right. You usually are! Did you kill that mage?"

Negate scoffed, tossing his ponytail indignantly. "No! The cheater had a priestess! I believe she's dead now, though… serves her right for interfering."

"So you killed a priestess?" Lisys questioned, thinking of Janelle, the woman she met briefly after the death of Captain Vachon, for reasons she wasn't quite sure of.

Negate shook his head in a quick, exaggerated motion, as if his attention had snapped toward some previously forgotten, but important, detail. "No, actually, the death knight killed her."

"Which? Saiynt?" Lisys pressed, head tilted. When Negate returned with a puzzled gaze, she heaved a sigh and elaborated. "The one with the breasts."

"Oh! No, it wasn't her. The male. He bashed her face in, it looked like, then tossed her over the side, said something in Common, and left. The mage went after the body, and I went to find you. I'm not certain what became of Ex, honestly. Perhaps he's murloc food."

Jublop cackled darkly behind the pair, trotting loyally behind. "No—the little bastard survived, I'm sure of it!"

"Unfortunate," Lisys accented, but shook her head as if it were not a real problem. "That was Sihner, Saiynt's… ah… well, he's her… hm…"

Negate lifted an eyebrow. "What are they to you?"

"Saiynt is my friend," Lisys answered, the full weight of her new sunny disposition seeping from her very pores so much that Negate watched her speak cautiously, seriously considering the idea that Lisys was dead and a spy had infiltrated his party instead. "Or, well… she sort of is. I guess I don't know as much about her as traditional friends would, but… she's been there for me somehow, like it's fated… oh, now I sound stupid," she mumbled with a fidget, though she did not sound unhappy.

"What do you mean?" Negate asked. Every situation he imagined ended in pillow fights or _let's practice kissing! _And neither scenario struck him as accurate.

"Mmm, well…" the continuity of happiness broke suddenly as her voice lowered several octaves, "… the first time, I died, or almost died… and those two fixed me…" then, just as suddenly, she regained confidence, "...and there was that incident back there! Jibreel would have killed me for sure if Saiynt hadn't shown up! And… and she's the only reason I was able to leave the Scourge."

"They fixed you? You almost died…?" Negate knitted his eyebrows together, clear frustration in his voice. "Could you start from the beginning, _please_?"

"Sorry," she scratched the back of her neck, offering an apologetic smile. "I told you I'm clumsy, didn't I? Well, I, ah, really messed up once, and I got hurt really, really bad. Normally, someone could send for Sarvis or Missus Andy, but I wasn't so lucky this time—"

"You almost died?" Negate interrupted, watching her with mild surprise. "What on Azeroth happened!?"

"Awh, I'm in such a good mood! Don't ruin it with embarrassing details! Anyway, that's when I met her for the first time. Saiynt just happened across me, quite honestly, and Sihner fixed me. He used to be a paladin."

"Sunwell," Negate shook his head, rubbing his temples. "Continue."

Sparing a moment to giggle at his response, Lisys obediently went on. "They were running from something, I reason. Deathknell has always been such a tiny town, I was probably out of the loop, but they were in serious trouble—I know that now. Since then I run into her like that, almost randomly here and there, and she really is sweet…" the Forsakenness exhaled dreamily.

Negate lifted his eyebrows as a smirk spread itself quickly across his mouth. "Is she now?"

His tone was not lost on her. "Of course you would misinterpret!"

"Misinterpret!? The woman was licking you! … _Licking you!_" Negate insisted, playfully outraged. "Are you trying to tell me she wasn't flirting with you?"

"Well, no…" Lisys shifted strangely as she walked, the familiar nervousness rising in her chest. "…ah, she probably was… I mean, I'm certain she was, but… stop smiling like that! Just because--! I mean…! I don't like her that way!" she erupted, suddenly rising to counter his haughty attitude.

She only served to fuel his fire. "Honestly? You didn't seem opposed," the elf taunted.

"Ahhh, well, it _is _tough for me to say no… to anyone, much less…" she confessed, returning to meekness briefly before regaining herself once more. "Where do you get off teasing me, anyway!?"

Negate laughed darkly, undaunted. "Yes! Scold me. How dare I get off on teasing you!"

"Stop phrasing things that way!" she insisted, balling her fists as they strode into town. "Eliza was right! You're a creature! A soulless creature!"

The warlock's smirk did not waver. "Speaking of, if you want to say good-bye, you ought to now. There's always the possibility you will not catch her tomorrow—and tonight, we've still got cheap liquor to finish."

"Hah! Honestly!" Lisys crossed her arms with a growl. "What makes you think I even want to drink with you again? Hm?!"

"What difference does that make?" Negate snickered, waving the question off. "You won't say no."

//SET LOCATION: THE ACHERUS

Even the continued assault on New Avalon did little to improve Saiynt's mood. Generally, the suffering of the light-blinded masses, one in the same with those who'd wrongfully hanged her—or more importantly, Sihner—decades ago, served to temporarily quell the burning hatred that otherwise manifested itself as over-zealous excitement, but was nonetheless uncomfortable. Now the surplus of frustration seemed too great to counter.

"Iss' is bull shit. Jus' fuckin' stupid. Why's it gotta be a elf? 'Nother dead guy, fine. Orc, troll, human—even gnome! Fine! Why a elf? Why I gotta lose to a fuckin' elf? Ah was there first, daymnit!" Irritation only mounting, she turned briskly away from her view off the balcony to glare at Sihner, standing stonily behind her. "I would'a killed him, dead-fuckin'-honest. 'Ow you know who his dad is, anyway? Sheeeyt, most days you can't fuckin' remember you even was a holy warrior, _but by the light! When there's honor at stake!" _at the last of her rant, she switched to Common and lowered her voice considerably, as if imitating someone specific.

Sihner was not the subject of imitation, but he was not amused either. "We're even now. Kill him next time you see him."

With an angry snarl, she turned her face angrily back outward, glaring at the reddening sky. "Wouldn't mattah. She ain' heuh, no way. Wouldn't be if he was alive ah naht."

Sihner removed his right glove, then stepped forward to touch her hair with the same listless lack of emotion he always displayed, though his attention was clearly transfixed. She hadn't cut her hair once since he'd known her, but at the same time, she never took care of it, either. He ran his hands over her locks instead of through them, the thick bones in his fingers encountering tangles of every degree. At times, the father in him felt like ordering her to comb it, while the lover in him wouldn't change it for the world.

"Jaqlyn could pull her over."

She tilted her head back, a heavy exhale sending a sizeable cloud of white mist swirling. "Nah' worth it."

"Why? Did you know Jaqlyn?" He dropped his hand to her shoulder, then stepped forward to lean against the railing alongside her, arm around her neck thus.

"Naw," she looked away purposefully, chewing her lip almost nervously before turning the question to him. "Did you?"

"Name sounds familiar."

//SET LOCATION: SILVERMOON CITY

The sun overhead, full to the brim with that just-right level of warmth that characterized the whole of Quel'Thalas, shone in just such a way as to make Phasilica's presence in the beautiful city that much more unnatural. Thankfully, the majority of her pearl-white skin was concealed beneath the muted gray tones of her robes, but the clean bones, particularly through her joints, shoulders, and hips, could not be helped. The entire ensemble contrasted all the greater with pitch-black hair and empty eyes in the blaring light, causing the usual unhappy frown—even unhappier at present—to appear even more ominous.

"I hate paladins. Honestly, I do—every single last one of you. But some, I admit, are decent men over-all, and I can tolerate them. Drunks, on the other hand, are twice as despicable and yet, I do my best to spare the group likewise case-by-case consideration, however…" her brows knitted together as she spoke through grit teeth, irritation completely over-taking her usual void tone, "…why must the two come together? Why? Why!?"

Vaschel Dauntlight, walking sunnily beside her, beamed in a way that suggested he hadn't been listening. He held up a bottle of Pinot Noir in his right hand, gesturing to the beverage with his left. "That's lovely, Phasilica… now watch this!" He rose the bottle to his lips, bit the top, and ripped it from the bottle with his teeth. Then, completing the stunt, he spit the bottle top in her general direction. "Tadaaaa!"

She tilted her body back a fraction gracefully, avoiding the projectile entirely, then righted herself. "Yes, very cute, Vaschel. Where did you learn such a _delightful_ trick?" she growled.

"Avarett Crysys, of course!" His smile did not waver.

"Of course." Her frown did not waver, either.

"Anyway, you never did tell me what you're doing out here," Vaschel pointed out by way of request, while simultaneously returning the polite wave of a city guardian standing firm watch over the Bazaar gate.

Phasilica shot the elf a glare possessing all the anger resulting from an over-stepped boundary. "Is it relevant? Surely you do not wish to restrict my movements within the city as well."

His high spirits evaporated quickly and in the interest of delaying his initial response, lest he say something stupid, Vaschel occupied his mouth with a large swig from the bottle before answering. "…I don't want to _restrict _anything. Light forbid I should try to protect you. That would just be awful!"

"I believe we part ways here," Phasilica answered coolly, veering sharply from his path, down toward the Walk of the Elders, too suddenly for protest.

He paused a moment to watch her float away with a sneer before tossing his hair back indignantly, passing through the second gate to Murder Row_. _Emerging to gloom on the other side, he rubbed his eyes in an attempt to speed up the sluggish expansion of his irises. Generally he avoided this area, but he'd already searched the whole rest of the city over and had little luck. Sure enough, as soon as he tilted his head back he laid eyes on the very subject of his hunt.

The Court of the Sun, on the other side this dreary section, was actually set higher than sea level, as opposed to the rest of the city, by several feet. The buildings located in Murder Row were set up on level with the Court of the Sun, with walkways beside them and a steep incline between.

Dawnn Highnoon was resting on the right walkway, laid out with arms behind head and eyes closed, precariously on the absolute edge of the incline, about two heads taller than Vaschel above the street.

Always the opportunist, the elder warrior hunched over and snuck, so much as heavy boots allowed, toward his half-sleeping younger, until he was beneath him directly, but standing away from the ledge so that he could see over it. To complete the set up, he tilted his head and cupped his hands over his mouth, in such a way to ensure his voice would carry well.

"_DAWNN!"_

The shout, lower and more commanding than his speaking voice, pierced straight through whatever momentary peace the younger knight had found and he shot upwards to grope at his ears but only succeeded in throwing himself off balance. In the way of the unlucky, he rolled in the worst—or best, depending on who retells the story—possible direction. With an exaggerated thud produced by the excess weight of heavy muscle, he smashed into the ground at Vaschel's feet, flat on his back.

"Shit!" he gasped, all the air exploding out of his lungs at once as pain screamed up and down his nerves.

Vaschel leaned over the other, sunny smile ever present on his lips. "That was amazing! Ahhh, I'll never know what women see in you. You're kind of a dork."

"You… asshole…" he coughed as he rolled over onto his stomach, gripping the wall to his immediate right with one hand to force his way onto his left elbow. He would feel this tomorrow. "What do you want?"

Vaschel's smile only thickened. "You know, Negate comes home today! This afternoon, in fact! We can probably expect him in a few hours! This is cause to celebrate, you know!"

"Have fun, then," Dawnn growled irately, forcing himself to a stand with a light wince.

Vaschel's expression wavered. "This is an invite, kiddo."

"Well, I'm not interested," he turned his back on the other, lifting his arms to grip the ledge. "I can't go anywhere with you two without waking up naked in some field I don't recognize, or worse."

"Such experiences are a small price to pay for partying! Besides, I hear Fae's sisters are back into town. She swears up and down they're not loose, but I'd be willing to bet one of my limbs that they are. Live a little!" Vaschel insisted appealingly.

"I swore off of women like that! Besides, I have to get up early tomorrow," Dawnn countered irately. He bent his knees a moment, then jumped up to climb back into his former resting place.

"You're way too young to swear off of anything! What do you have to get up for, anyway?" his senior kicked the wall in a way that suggested he was not to be ignored.

Perched atop the walkway, Dawnn looked down on Vaschel for once. "None of your damn business!" he growled, but at the same time he couldn't dispel a nagging feeling that he was somehow rude for declining. After all, in Vaschel's own way this was probably something of a peace offering or even a generally kind gesture. "…besides, Negate has to actually return before there's any cause for celebration."

Certain he'd won, Vaschel's mood contrasted sharply back toward excitement. "And he will, give him a couple hours!"

"I'll be here," Dawnn exhaled, waving Vaschel off. It wasn't a yes, but better than the firm _no_ he'd given earlier.

"See ya then!" Vaschel beamed, turning to set about certain preparations.

xwx

"C'mon, Zalys! Give it back!" Daynha squealed, sprinting as hard as she could down the lane, witnessing the City Guardian by the same name dashed ahead of her and around the bend, clutching a letter in his right. More specifically, it was a love letter, from her and addressed to none-of-Zalys's-damn-business, which was what compelled her long-time friend to steal it at the end of his shift. Fortunately she caught him in the act, but unfortunately his legs were twice as long as hers and even keeping sight of him was a challenge.

"Zalys!" she repeated desperately, squinting into the distance to her left around the bend. In fact, so consumed was her focus that she scarcely noticed a tall, dark-headed priestess in her path—that is, until she slammed right into her back, sending the poor woman sprawling forward as she herself stumbled a bit and nearly tripped herself.

The priestess fell forward with surprising elegance given the abruptness of their collision, catching herself on her forearms with scarcely a noise, her lithe body offering no weight for a thud. The jarring contact with the ground, however, did succeed in knocking loose several lengthy locks of hair from the clip that generally held it straight back and rigid.

"Agh! Damn, I'm so sorry!" Daynha gasped, rubbing the back of her head self-consciously for a moment before reaching forward to grasp the more fragile creature's arm to help her stand, until the woman turned her face to reveal her identity mere fractions of a second before Daynha's hands slipped to the clean bones of her elbow.

"Phasilica," she snarled, ejecting the name with all the charm of a filthy word. She tightened her grip on the other woman temporarily, only to fling her at the ground with twice the force. "I'd think there's enough lightdamn space in this city that I should be able to avoid running into you!"

A sharp but silent gasp passed through Phasilica's teeth as she met with the stone path once more, breaking her cold expression with one of deep, quiet anger. In the ghostly slow movements exclusive to the undead, she rose to her feet once more and steadily turned to face her adversary. "…Once Arthas had reached the Sunwell," she began slowly, voice dripping with a poisonous venom meant to strike with equal force as the actual words spoken, "…he ordered a genocide on the whole area. No rhyme, no reason—just for the pure sport of it. How thrilling, the annihilation of an entire race."

"So this is what Vaschel and Negate are protecting!" Daynha interjected, hate coursing through veins so thick, she felt its syrup might stop her heart. Every fiber of her soul cried desperately to end this foul creature, but the watchful eyes of the city guard would never allow for it. It took something of superhuman strength to keep her still, knuckles white.

"The idea behind his instruction," she continued, undaunted, even taking an aggressive step forward, bringing the full force of her chill, "of course, was order. But the death knights, in their thirst for carnage and their mindless underlings are not so easily controlled. The failure of total extermination kept many worthy elfin people alive. Unfortunately, hideous wretches like yourself were also among the survivors," she breathed hatefully, edging closer to the holy warrior with every heated syllable.

"I will see you rot in hell!" Daynha shouted, never losing a step, but instead leaning forward to meet the other woman's angry gaze.

"I want nothing of your petty confrontation!" Phasilica countered, raising her voice likewise. "I wish for nothing better than to be left alone! If you must despise me, so be it! Smear my name and throw your tantrums, but stay out of my way, and do not meddle in my friendships!"

The much smaller elfin female narrowed her eyes to slits as she glared up at the priestess, palms bleeding where her nails had dug in. "Light help you should we meet again," she snarled before spitting at Phasilica's feet and turning briskly away.

*END: CHAPTER 15*

_-LAST REVISION: 8-23-09_


	17. Chapter 16

*BEGIN: CHAPTER 16*

//SET LOCATION: BRILL

As the beloved sun pressed blearily through former Lordaeron's green haze, and weaker still through the frosty windows of the Gallow's End Tavern, Negate shifted uncomfortably beneath drab, mauve blankets, trying to free himself from the confines of unpleasant, unconscious recollection of a defining moment in his younger years.

At the curious age of ten years, he remembered with startling clarity walking briskly through the messy, crowded shopping district—an impressive mixture of various stimuli that absolutely dwarfed the present-day bazaar—alongside his father, recently returned from Lordaeron (and this time, for good). He was happy, of course, after two years of only seeing Cevian off and on, but at the same time Negate had acquired a nagging sensation that his father simply wasn't the same. He seemed a bit hazy, somehow preoccupied, which in turn preoccupied Negate with guesses about what could have possibly changed.

All at once a soft, sad sound halted the small boy's thoughts. He instinctively stopped and turned his face this way and that, looking for the source of the cry, like the tiny whimper of a small, fuzzy animal. He scanned the area several times with alert fluorescent-blue eyes, but he found no possible culprit—just happy elves shopping and chatting on three sides, then a pair of brand new, optimistic buildings on the other.

"Looking for something there, Nate?" Cevian asked affectionately, back-tracking a few paces to stand next to the boy again, placing a hand atop his son's head.

"I heard a weird noise," Negate returned thoughtfully, his eyes settling on the insignificant space between the two buildings to his right. The first was a multi-floored shopping center filled with the interests of fine ladies—the sort of place his mother would have forced him to accompany her, only to insist he sit still and be quiet for hours while she examined expensive bags and sparking jewels… before her illness worsened, of course. The adjacent was an inn, the sort of grand structure that attracted all types of wealthy foreigners. In the interest of saving space in the bustling, industrious capital, the two similar structures were built with no more than a foot between their neighboring walls, just as every other construct along the street.

"Dark between there, hmm? Perfect for rats and spiders," Cevian teased, skipping his fingers along the boy's head as in the scurry of one such creature.

"No, not in Silvermoon!" Negate protested happily, raising his arms to flail and playfully swat his father's hand from his hair. Still, if there was such a thing as a rat in his home city, Negate wanted to see it. He bent forward and strained his eyes to peer further down the narrow slit between the buildings.

A movement below his eye level but far too high for a critter startled him into an abrupt step back, then forward again. Cevian likewise leaned inward—he saw it, too.

The movement repeated, not really a movement at all, but a quick twitching, a desperate flinging of the fingers that called for immediate attention. The figure took shape as their eyes adjusted to the blackness, like a dark void in the middle of sunny, temperate warmth, and so much shadier by comparison. They were looking at a hand, connected to an arm, connected to a girl who was ill or injured so that her cries were muffled from conception, then again by thick walls.

"Sunwell," Cevian whispered, pushing his arm into the black. "Hang on, hang on, I'll get you out!"

Negate watched in stunned silence as his father struggled to free the trapped girl from the pressing walls, a desperate effort that required agility, but at the same time a conscious effort to minimalize injury to her, all while she was panicking and crying. Some sliver of a moment later he had wretched her free from the dark, ungodly space and into his arms, from where she threw herself back and onto the stones.

The young elf caught a quick glimpse of her before he quickly turned his gaze away, cheeks hot. She was tiny, unrealistically small for an adult, even an elf, but all proportions were in the correct alignment for a young woman and _not _a child. Furthermore, she was naked but for blood and bruises marring her once-white skin… and oh, the blood was more than enough to make him squeamish if the nudity was not. Crusted but covered with fresher, oozing fluids down the corner of her mouth, caked over her thighs, out of a gash on her lower stomach, and below the swelling, black-blue blotches, broken fingers and missing toenails.

"What's your name? What happened to you?" Cevian asked, his voice forcibly calm, though his fingers shook as he yanked off the first layer of his robes to drape over the victim. Innocent passers-by were becoming spectators, some so audacious as to openly stare.

She flinched from him and from the crowd, closing her eyes and blinking away the intense sunlight as she tried to form an intelligible response, but could only manage disconnected whimpering.

Negate was too young to know exactly what happened to this girl, just that it was _really, really bad_. Someone, or some people, really messed that tiny teenager up, then hid her in plain sight, stuffing her in that dark, lonely crevice early in the morning, and all afternoon perhaps a hundred others passed by, oblivious to her cries. Silvermoon City sure was, and is, outwardly pretty. But it rested on Azeroth nonetheless, and Azeroth is an ugly, ugly place.

"_Ugh… why am I… thinking about her_...?" Negate mumbled to himself, rubbing his forehead as the last waves of sleep slipped away. Everything about that memory always filled him with a possessing desire to check on his little sister. Thank the Sunwell that by afternoon he'd be home.

"Oh! Are you waking up?" squeaked Lisys, sitting already dressed and unusually upright on her bed, made up perfectly. "I'm ready to go when you are! I mean, don't feel rushed! I'm just excited, that's all," she babbled without even thinking about her words, wiggling her toes inside her boots. She was fully prepared for him to criticize her jumbled speech, and would even meet it with an unwavering smile. Surely nothing could break her spirits today.

"Ah? … yeah, I'm up," he answered with a yawn, his thoughts a bit scattered up until he actually climbed out of bed and began dressing. "Didn't you sleep at all?"

"Ah, well, n… not really. I had a lot of fun finishing those bottles with you last night. Then I just couldn't get calmed down. I talked with Eliza for hours after you went to sleep, I think… but if you're worried about me, don't be! It may be uncomfortable, but the undead can function for days without sleeping," Lisys declared cheerfully.

The warlock scoffed, examining rats in the split ends of his pony tail. "So you've been watching me sleep? Wonderful… this needs cut again."

"Your hair was a lot smoother when we first met," Lisys commented in agreement before sheepishly backing down when he shot her a glare. "Just saying! Ah, we could get hair cuts in the Undercity, I think, since we're going there anyway. I don't much remember what it looks like…"

Negate turned to her, narrowing his eyes. "You've been before? You said you've barely left Deathknell your entire life!" he growled edgily. Petty by nature, half-truths easily grated his nerves, and furthermore he wanted to be the first to show this pitiful creature the Undercity.

"Ah, well, of course I was all over… Immediately after I died… and after Sylvanas freed us, she needed everyone to help finish the city so we could branch out and retake most of Tirisfal Glades… but it was like I just woke up, so everything is extremely hazy…" Lisys stuttered, old nerves returning as he pushed her into an uncomfortable subject.

He did not push her further, but insensitively did not notice her discomfort either. "Ah! That makes sense. Weren't we supposed to," he paused to yawn, still shaking off some fatigue, "…visit some deathguard before we leave?"

"Deathguard Linnea. She's from Death Knell, actually…" Lisys answered, jumping to her feet. "Are we ready to go?"

He nodded, slinging his pack over his shoulder as he followed her out of the room for once. "Is that so? Did you know her?"

"Mmm, not really," Lisys answered, waving at Yvette and the Innkeep chipperly as they exited. "I never maintained many close friends. It wouldn't surprise me if she didn't even recognize me, honestly. You think I'm timid now? Hm! I was worse then. Can you believe it?"

"No, I can't," Negate lifted his eyebrows at her. "You certainly are talkative this morning."

"Oh, if you don't like it, I'll stop." Lisys offered. Even her step was a might quicker, with no psychological limping, subtracting from the usual travel time. The campsite was already within view.

"Not at all. Usually, conversing with you is like pulling teeth, unless you're asking questions about someone else anyway," the warlock scoffed, nodding toward the campsite. "That's her, isn't it? Get reacquainted, I'm still half-asleep."

With a nod, Lisys gathered her courage and stepped forward. "Excuse me, Linnea… Magistrate Sevren requested I check in with you."

To Lisys's surprise, as Linnea watched her approach, mild but not unpleasant surprise registering on her face. "Lisys? … Great shadow, you're still stuck here? Why aren't you in Silverpine looking for Nadia?"

"Looking for… Nadia?" Lisys's smile wavered. "What do you mean…?"

"So no one told you? … Forget I said anything. I mean it, it's better for you," Linnea ordered, behaving as if Lisys should not find anything strange about her incoherent babbling. "Where are you heading?"

"I… I'm sorry, I'm very confused," Lisys answered, tilting her head. "Could you back up?"

Negate watched the exchange from where Lisys had left him just off the road, within earshot but far enough to comfortably ignore their conversation. Despite Lisys's claims of invisibility, the deathgaurd did appear to recognize her, and something near affection registered as well, although the elf could very well be imagining it. Whatever it was, it was _not _hostility… and he wouldn't mind a scene mirroring the incident with the deathknight.

But on the other hand, the warlock mused that perhaps it was too early to be excited already, and tuned back into their conversation.

"I heard some rumors, that's all. You can safely ignore it," Linnea retorted quasi-nervously, tossing her hair over her shoulder. "Where are you heading?"

"The Undercity," Lisys sighed, defeated.

"Hm. Well, I need you to take a short detour. If you're quick, it won't take too long and you'll be to the Undercity before noon." Lennia informed as if under the impression that Lisys could not refuse.

"Ah, all right, what do you need?" Lisys asked, unhappiness creeping upon her in part, though she held away the majority. Just one more small task before Silvermoon…

"As you know, the defenders on The Bulwark protecting Tirisfal from the Plaguelands are on constant alert. But sometimes Scourge will slip past them. Our success at the Bulwark depends on a one-front battle – we cannot allow an attack from the rear, nor can we allow our defenders' supply line to be cut. Assist the Bulwark. Patrol east and slay any Scourge you find. Spend particular effort at the Balnir Farmstead to the east. It has become a haven for interloping Scourge."

"Is that right?" Lisys put a hand on her forehead—this did not sound like a small task, and Negate had been waiting anxiously for days to get home—but how could she say no? A small battle waged on in her mind; half tried to justify Linnea's request, the remainder brought a strong desire to reject.

Linnea's expression tightened, as if she did not expect disobedience, "Honestly, it will only take but a moment of your precious time!" then her face smoothed just as quickly, "besides, you want to be a deathguard, don't you?"

"Oh my, news sure does travel fast…" Lisys muttered, both embarrassed and flattered that there was even enough interest in her pathetic aspirations that anyone knew at all.

"It's all right, Lisys," Negate interjected, stepping forward, Jublop now at his side. "It's still morning; I promised my return this afternoon for this very reason. We've got time."

Light relief softened Lisys's tensing brow. "Oh! Then, we should get started!" she beamed, turning around. The bounce in her step renewed, but was yet less peppy as she tried to put this Nadia business behind her. Linnea was just babbling, that was all… but what kind of rumors could she have possibly been babbling about?

"Ah, Lisys?" Negate lifted his eyebrows, waiting for her to turn around again before pointing. "_This_ is east."

xwx

As the daughter of a farmer and the wife of another, Lisys was familiar with the Balnir Farmstead. Renown horse breeders, many of her fellow dirt-poor peasants were innocently jealous of their success—a minor barb against their family name was not uncommon here and there, and it was funny then. Now that they were gone, it wasn't so much.

"Have you been here before?" Negate questioned, watching Lisys watching the field. "You seem… wistful."

Lisys started as it occurred to her she'd been resting against the fence, just staring. She hadn't, of course, and could hardly picture what it would have looked like if she had. What must have been a green, prosperous farm was now a barren field and a sad barn complete with a quaint house that had rotted down to the foundation. Animated corpses and hopeless spirits infested the land like she couldn't imagine. The Scourge was all over; Linnea wasn't kidding.

"Ah, no, I wasn't really thinking about anything..." she shook away the past, her natural smile broadening a bit. "It certainly feels dark here, doesn't it? C'mon, let's get started."

Negate watched Lisys hop the fence and dissolve into the shadows, eagerly catching untethered spirits and rotting heathens, the very creatures of shadows from which she had also sprung, completely unaware. She'd become significantly tougher; once upon a time this field would have overwhelmed her… provided she could be convinced to come so close to the enemy in the first place.

His sister could be similar someday, a thought that both thrilled Negate and scared him senseless.

"What's the hold up!? Still scared of zombies?" cackled Jublop beside him, dancing eerily in a demand for attention. "A frightened warlock!? Eehee!"

While he generally found Jublop at least tolerable, the creature's voice was exceptionally grating when cutting through his thoughts. "Get your ass over the fence and get to work!" he growled shortly in response, the toe of his boot connecting with the imp's backside shortly after.

Still cackling, Jublop sprang up on the other side of the fence, nursing his backside only a moment before hurrying in the opposite direction of Lisys to complete his master's bidding. It was the same story as the last fight he'd entered at Negate's side: attack this, attack that, follow orders, stay quiet or else…. But not for long. His master had gotten stronger and was bound to replace him soon, and so it was with giddy ease that he aided Negate this time as opposed to haughty defiance.

The imp's willful aid allowed Negate to keep an eye on Lisys, for which he was grateful; while this particular breed of walking dead exhibited no real intelligence of their own, the stupid beasts were starved for flesh and carnage.

From what he could tell, the entire field was riddled with sad excuses for 'was-human' as far as the eye could see, so much that he quickly became desensitized to it. It was very sad, but only if he actually stopped to think about it—otherwise each monster looked the same as the next and stood between he and his return home.

It was this inevitable desensitization that caused a sluggishness to crowd his thoughts and slow his reactions when, by complete dumb luck, he just happened to turn at the right time to catch something very out of the ordinary, and very dangerous.

Lisys saw it, too. Not human or even earthly, a celestial being of a woman seemed to ooze more than creep from the worn-out barn, an unhealthy, unholy witch that deadened the air around her with her mere presence. The deteriorating, savage dead slowed their ungodly prowl, turning their heads and their eyes, twisting their bodies at odd, painful angles to harken her unmade demands for their attention.

At first, the undead could scarcely comprehend how this wicked hag's presence could have slept so soundly that they had completely missed it; how could any mortal structure, much less a decaying, wooden barn, contain this black hole of death and misfortune? From where Lisys stood, she could sense that the woman reeked of rot so powerful her lesser zombies were entranced by her flesh, and an overwhelming aura of misery, sucked straight from fresh victims, clung amongst her visage and intermingled with shadows the beldam could not clear herself, even if she had wished to.

This was the most powerful being of blackness she had ever had the misfortune of facing; a necromancer of the highest order, but through the mist of unhappiness a familiarity held her still. Ebony locks framed her face, dripping from a bone-carved clip intended to hold a strict bun atop her head but loosened by filthy exploits. Her bottom lip was missing, but her tongue was a living color of red as she ran it over her graying upper lip, set beneath a petit nose set beneath hallowed eyes. Just like her hallucination a mere two nights ago.

Like a naive moth to a candle, Lisys took two staggering steps forward, ignoring the desperate calls of someone far off, someone so new to her existence that she could not place his name while every fiber of her being was absorbed in this moment, in recalling the past. This woman was strong and regal, and she certainly possessed the sort of knowledge in magic that Lisys had only seen once before.

But it wasn't her. The hallucination she'd experienced at the inn was just that—and this woman was _not _her beloved friend, she was sure of it.

Lisys loosed a muffled cry as a slap of heat around her mouth bit through her thoughts and end over end she fell into the dirt, unable to shout and completely unaware of which way was up for a fraction of a second, until a half-turn later she was looking up at the sky.

Whispering a harsh 'hush!', Negate, on the ground beside her, pushed and pulled and half-dragged the forsakenness along the dirt and under the broken fence. He pulled her so quickly she was fumbling and clumsy, failing to regain herself over and over again until he had shoved her round the corner of a small shed, and out of the hag's sight.

As if Lisys had suddenly comprehended the situation all at once, she clapped a hand over her mouth to keep her whimpers silent and flattened her back against the old shed, drawing her knees to her body.

Quietly the elf pushed her head down to peer over and around her, worried they had been discovered. The situation was tense and she awaited his next instructions in agony, but his hand atop her head, his body leaning over hers, was more than enough comfort to hold her still, even as the seconds stretched, became infinite in the space of fear.

The ordeal was over as quickly as it began—an exaggerated eternity later the warlock released his companion, heaving a sigh that expressed both relief and tense worry over what could have happened. "She's gone. Sunwell! What the hell were you thinking, gawking like that!?"

Suddenly feeling dizzy, Lisys hung her head, her usual personality regaining her behavior. "I'm sorry… I… thought she looked like my Missus Andy… So I couldn't help staring…" she mumbled unhappily, watching her soles flex as she wiggled her toes. She wasn't sure if she'd be happier or more disappointed if the woman really was, leaving a guilty feeling clawing at her dead heart.

Negate surprised her by replying, not with anger, but a stiff, ironic laugh. "Is that so? I was just thinking she looked like Phasilica," he scoffed, dusting his robes. He was filthy. "It wasn't her, was it? Misses Andy?"

"No, it wasn't her. I'm certain of it," Lisys stated firmly, mimicking Negate's motions even though the dirt did not phase her.

"Hm. Well I'll be damned, I guess Fabricate isn't as crazy as we thought," the elf scoffed, standing, then turning to help Lisys stand as well.

//SET LOCATION: STORMWIND CITY

"_When I say 'let's go to Stormwind,' it's an awful idea. But when the mighty Crusade sends us, it's the best idea you've ever heard! Don't even deny it. I know what's going on here!"_

"_You wanted to quit! We're here to recruit—that's the exact opposite of what you suggested!"_

"_Humph, I feel sorry for anyone we convince."_

Clutching a small child from her vantage point perched atop the stairs at the old orphanage, a tiny, silver-haired elf kept one ear glued to the conversation, an apparent lover's quarrel, between two humans as they walked by. She understood almost nothing of the actual words spoken, but their tones made her smile; young lovers should disagree, it would help them learn about one another, and eavesdropping never failed to produce guilty pleasure, even if she barely understood.

This city, stuffed to the brim with humans, was a very lonely place for forty-one-year-old Chord Voidbreaker. Volunteering at this orphanage, where she could communicate with the children through the universal language of giggles and smiles was a comfort, but did not substitute for real conversation. Neither did brief exchanges with the joyless Shellene, the only other, besides her husband of course, in the whole city that seemed to speak Thalasian.

The child she now held was new to this orphanage, a spunky eight-year-old who had been passed around her whole life and remembered naught of her real parents. At first appalled, Chord's desperation for any ties to her old heritage quickly caused her to seek out the young half-elf's friendship. The girl, Angel as they called her, was uglier than sin and spoke no Thalasian, either, but at _least _her ears pointed and her eyes glowed subtly, and until her husband was finished with his business here and they could return to Dalaran, she'd take any scraps she was offered.

Chord herself, on the other hand, had never been described with any adjective before 'cute'. At 4'8'', she found herself constantly explaining to strangers that she was, in fact, an adult and her husband was not some kind of pervert, although he was, albeit the legal sort, which all seemed very silly to her since a quick glance at her proportions should have told a nosy busybody that she was full grown. Still, to help cancel the youthening effect her height had in the eyes of her peers, she always kept her lengthy silver hair in a sophisticated upsweep or, at the worst, down, but never in pigtails or braids, and she did her best to avoid bright colors in her clothing.

Even so, there was an impish appeal in her unwanted childlike features, from the whole of her petit face to the minute details of her freckles and button nose that created sympathy and understanding in almost every person to have ever gazed at her… except for the human man that now approached.

A medium-dark-skinned male of average height but two times as muscular stormed along the stone walkway, shoving aside any in his path, with noisy mail boots rivaling that of the guards'. He had thick ebony hair with a dark, unforgiving beard and mustache, though they were starting to pepper—from poor lifestyle choices more than age.

Complimenting the warrior's angry disposition were deep circles under his eyes, as in one who is ill and unrestful, and a bottle of cenarion spirits half-finished in his hand before the clock had even struck noon. Tiny, timid Chord was prepared to run and hide at the mere sight of the human male, but when he stopped firmly in front of her, broad shoulders casting a dark shadow over her entire body, she was ready to crawl into a hole.

"_How convenient, she's right outside for me," _he laughed cruelly in Common, gazing intermittently at Chord, then Angel, before tilting his head back to take a swig of his drink.

Chord lifted a hand to cover the child's eyes as she gazed at the human, mouth slightly agape in stunned silence. Surely this man wasn't for real. The mere tone of his voice echoed such abrasiveness within her ears that she could not respond right away. Finally, tearing her small, blue eyes away, she managed to stutter, "I… I apologize, I don't really… L… let me go get Miss Sh—"

"It's all right, I speak elf," the human countered almost absently, sloshing the bottle around in front of his face, as if it were more important. "Wine is fucking delicious…" he added off-handedly.

Once more, Chord was shocked into silence—certainly this man wasn't cursing and drinking in front of an orphanage—before her brain forced a quiet, "You mean Thalasian," through her lips as she pressed Angel's head to her bosom as to cover her ears and eyes at the same time.

It was a mistake. The human, in all of his intimidating glory, turned his full attention to Chord with clear irritation. "What-the-fuck-ever. I speak it! Now I'm here for my mutt, hand her over," he growled, gesturing to the small child resting on Chord's lap.

The high elf winced but clutched the youngster fiercely, a skeptical frown on her face. "You're… this girl's father?" she asked as strongly as she could muster.

As the question worked its way through the man's drunken haze he reacted, not in anger as Chord had expected, but with a deep, ironic laugh. "Yeah! That's it. I like to have sex with tiny elf women—like you!—and then drop our bastard children off at orphanages. But I need this one back," at this, his face returned to an unhappy snarl, "So give it."

The sheer power of his glare nearly brought Chord to tears. Generally she avoided confrontation, but this was a child, not an object—she couldn't just hand _her _over. "L- listen," she stuttered unhappily, pausing to flinch as if she expected to be hit, "she's… there are…"

"I beg your pardon; what business have you with my wife?" sounded the rich voice of authority to the human's right, ripe with barely-restrained intolerance. Turning lazily, the warrior found himself faced with another high elf, this time more realistically sized at a modest 5'7'', though on the shorter end by human male standards. His hair was a dark-black that rivaled his own and gave the man a very vampiric, sinister appearance when combined with its unrealistic length—all the way down his backside—to his expensive style of dress.

Black eyebrows knitted darkly over his face. This man was not pleased, and he was not accustomed to opposition.

"Cevian!" Chord squealed as immense relief crashed through her insides. Like a baby raccoon caught in the sunlight she set the child off of her lap then, clutching the girl's hand, ran behind her husband, putting Cevian between herself and the burly warrior she'd rather not deal with henceforth.

In her panic, of course, she'd forgotten all about the, ah, scant space for charity within her husband's heart as opposed to her own. As soon as his eyes caught sight of the half-elf child they widened slightly in disgust, then narrowed with impatience.

"Chord, what is _that?" _he demanded.

"Great! More of you!" Leland interjected with a snicker, redirecting the ebony-haired high-elf's anger to himself.

"Sir, you are clearly very drunk," Cevian observed, a low snarl underlying his words. The elf did not take kindly to large, brutish warriors frightening his small, timid wife. "I think you'd best remove yourself from the premises before I remove you myself."

Although the threat was legitimate, and the human could clearly sense the power in his opponent's words, he remained openly unconcerned. For a brief moment he watched a group of children chase one another out of the orphanage and around his legs before rushing out into the street, then looked back to Cevian. "Let me tell you a story," he smirked, hatefully gazing directly into the other man's face.

Three inches shorter and half as wide, Cevian Voidbreaker appeared completely undaunted. "I haven't any time for your everloving games, human. State your business or leave," he scoffed haughtily, but the warrior was undeterred.

"Just a short year ago," he began darkly, pausing to take a swig of his bottle, now nearly gone, "I woke to some sad news. It seems a blood elf cut my little brother's head off a continent away… Now I never liked you goddamn elves, not any-fuckin-one of you…" he paused to snicker, shaking his head, "but if I had to pick, I'd say the blood elves are my favorite because unlike you high elf bastards, they aren't _roaming the streets of my motherfucking city_!"his laugh dropped away abruptly and replaced itself with an angry snarl. "Your bitch isn't giving up my goddamn half-rat, and if you really cared about her, you'll talk some sense into her before I flatten both of you!" he demanded in much the same tone, but as soon as his rant was finished the anger drained out of his face again, and he took another drink.

Chord whimpered, curling her fingers in Cevian's robe from behind him, while the child clung to her skirts. She was undeniably thankful for her husband's presence, but now that a fight seemed inevitable she was more scared than before.

Cevian's eyes narrowed as he stared up at the other man, cold fury freezing and smoothing his words into sharp shards of ice. "Are you stupid?" he breathed, fists balled. "Boy, I am the last enemy on all of Azeroth that you want to create for yourself! If you turn now I will write off your impudence as unfortunate ignorance, but you'd best walk away fast, Mister…?"

Further infuriating his opponent, the human put his pointer finger on his right hand in the air, as if signaling for the elf to _wait a minute, _while he dipped his head back to finish the remainder of the bottle. Once drained he righted his face and let the glass container fall to the stone stairs where it shattered, startling the nearby group of homeless children into tears.

"Andy," he answered smugly.

Chord silently pleaded with the man to heed her husband's advice and run, but she was not surprised when he refused. She was surprised, however, as all of the anger drained from Cevian's tone as he repeated, in a delayed, curious way,

"…Andy…?"

"Fucking hell, did I sutter!? Yes! Leland Andy, that's me! Piss on both of you, slow dipshit elves," snarled the warrior impatiently.

Although happiness was not exactly the word for it, Cevian's expression did smooth over as realization clicked through his mind. In some ways, the man's identity almost allowed him to forgive his abrasive attitude. "Chord, give Mr. Andy the child," he ordered after a brief moment of thought.

Nervous little Chord generally went along with whatever her love asked of her, some would argue that very quality was what had attracted the man to her in the first place, but this particular request was absurd. "You can't… be serious!" she squeaked, glancing frightfully down at the whimpering half-elfin child, near tears herself with fright.

"I am," Cevian confirmed impatiently, turning to face his wife for the first time since this whole messy incident began. "Trust me, this is out of our hands."

"B- but," Chord's bottom lip quivered pathetically as she watched his face for any shred of doubt or wavering. "There are procedures to this sort of thing…"

Much to Leland's gagging irritation, Cevian smoothed over the tiny woman's hair carefully and sympathetically. "No one is going to miss a half-blood."

His words stung, but they were real, and he was right—however fond Chord had decided she was of the girl. Before she could actually hand the child over, however, the beastly human rounded the elves and scooped up the eight-year-old with a sarcastic salute and, while Angel squirmed and yelped, struggling to free herself from his grasp, he carried her away.

And she was gone. The only friend Chord had been allowed to make in this pretty, lonely city had left her life mere hours after entering it to enjoy at least a decade of likely misery in the hands of her adopted father.

Chord's bottom lip quivered.

Although interest in the affairs of others was completely unnatural to him, Cevian stared after the pair through narrowed eyes, and for sometime after they were out of sight, before he turned back to his wife to find that she looked absolutely miserable. And over what, someone else's child? He loved her deeply, but sometimes the woman was a complete mystery to him.

"Chord?"

"Uh… huh?" With a sniffle and a quick swipe over her eyes with her sleeve, the tiny woman turned her doll-like face up to his with a heavy, forced smile. While completely transparent, she generally avoided complaining to the best of her ability.

Cevian sheparded her into his arms easily, running his fingers through her hair as she hid her face against him. "How would you like to visit Daynha Highnoon?"

Immediately she pulled away from him, elation exploding across her small features. "What!? … Really!?" she demanded, balling her tiny fists in front of her as her eyes expanded well beyond what seemed possible. "But… you said it was impossible!"

Cevian laughed affectionately at the strength of her reaction. "I have money, Chord. Nothing is impossible." He laced his fingers with hers, a habit in any crowded city, as he pulled her away.

"So you lied earlier so you wouldn't have to go to the trouble, is that right?" Chord accused knowingly, but not angrily. Nothing could break her mood now.

Cevian cleared his throat. "Shouldn't you let Shellene know you're leaving?"

*END: CHAPTER 16*


	18. Chapter 17

*BEGIN: CHAPTER 17*

//SET LOCATION: FARSTRIDER'S SQUARE, APPROX 1 YEAR AGO

"How petty…" Dawnn sighed, shifting his gaze up, then down, then back up the perfectly desolate streets of the newly rebuilt Silvermoon City—even the City Guardians were missing, busy either clashing with the intruders or nursing their wounds. A large group of raiding alliance had passed through mere moments ago with the goal of beating their Regent Lord into a temporary surrender, a demoralizing blow that would earn them recognition with the Alliance. The Horde had a similar competition, but to Dawnn the whole idea seemed unreasonably petty.

Still, Zalys, a City Guardian his mother had befriended some time ago, had turned u p missing, and in the interest of his mother's sanity, Dawnn agreed to help locate him. While the silence gave a foreboding aura to the city, there was no honor kin slaughtering citizens and Lor'themar Theron on his own would be a handful—Dawnn never expected to run into a human.

He was nonchalantly poking his head around Farstrider's Square, scarcely expecting to find Gaurdian Zalys, when he ran right into a familiar face—Mason Andy, fully plated except for his helmet, which he held under his arm, exposing a knowing smile. He recognized Dawnn, too.

Almost dizzy, the elf stared with clear shock playing across his face. "What--? You, honestly--? … _Shouldn't you be_--?" he pointed numbly toward the Court of the Sun, unable to finish his own sentence. Stupid as he knew this kid was, he didn't think he'd be dumb enough to wander away from the raid.

Mason laughed softly, running his glove over perfect black, short spiky hair. "So it is you! I was wondering," he shook his head, chuckle never pausing, "how lucky can I be! I was so sure you'd be dead, but anyway, I'm looking for Phasilica. I don't suppose you could help me out?"

Bewilderment settled away into open hostility. He and Mason were never friends, and Dawnn wasn't liking his tone. "What makes you think I'd know?" he growled.

Mason returned the scoff, shifting his weight forward slightly. "Fine. If I remember, I owe you a good beating anyway," he snickered, then lunged forward.

Though stockier, at a very modest 5'10'', Mason was notably shorter than his opponent but, especially since Dawnn had recently switched classes, he was far, far stronger. His shoulder mashed into Dawnn's midsection like a heap of bricks and knocked him hard to the ground, flat on his ass, breathless.

Mason stopped short, remaining upright instead of pinning the elf, and with his boot rolled his writhing, lanky form over a turn and a half to the side of the street. He drew his axe, but instead of a series of fatal blows to the elf while he was still coughing, he used the blunt end to push his chin up, tilting the elf's head back. He then lifted his foot, lining up his heel with Dawnn's forehead.

"Last chance to cooperate before I stamp your skull and break your neck," Mason offered mock-politely, foot poised.

"I told you, I wouldn't know," Dawnn growled lowly, watching the iron heel practice finding his forehead. His whole left side, where Mason's right shoulder had knocked him dead-center, burned like hellfire where he'd cracked a rib. Intense frustration clawed at every fiber of his being. Once upon a time, he could have smote the hell out of this kid already and thrown his ass out of his city. As a paladin, Dawnn would be virtually useless for years—it'd take at least that long to catch up to where he was as a priest… and there was really nothing he could do about it. Generally it didn't bother him and he was ready to take one step at a time, but at times like this he fully resented the switch.

"That's unfortunate," Mason scoffed before driving his boot down hard. The elf reacted just as quickly, jerking his left forearm between his face and the human's heel, effectively stopping the motion with a quarter way to go, but not for long.

"You think I can't break your arm, too!?" Mason cackled, pushing all of his weight onto the obstruction. The elf's face contorted as he pushed up with as much force as he could exert in such a disadvantaged position with only one arm; he couldn't hope to use his other, the pressure on his broken rib was already unbearable. The human matched his force with some effort. For the time being they were deadlocked, but Dawnn was destined to give first.

"It was a simple request! Not worth dying over," the human growled, pushing the elf's arm down, down, until someone called his name from behind, and all at once he relieved the pressure to turn his head questioningly.

"Mason Andy?" Vaschel gawked, stripping his helmet so quickly that it fell to the ground with a clang, eyes narrowing and widening alternately as he tested them for clarity. Across the chest of his blood knight tabard, a recognizable deep stain mingled with the dark fabric; the raid had been a short one.

Dawnn grabbed at Mason's instep, first pulling forward, then shoving back, tossing Mason off balance and away from his face. He wasted no time squirming up to a sit on the curb, clutching his ribs, though he knew was not likely in danger anymore.

Mason stumbled back several steps before catching himself on a post, laughing lightly the entire way. "So you're alive, too! I'm happy—honestly. Maybe you'll be more helpful."

Vaschel stared in stunned silence for several moments before shaking off all attempts to understand the man's logic. "This… isn't really a good place for humans," he advised wearily. "You best book it out of here."

"Then we better make this quick. I'm looking for Phasilica; I don't suppose you'd be so kind as to point me in the right direction?" There was nothing threatening in the question; in fact he asked tenfold more amicably than he had asked Dawnn.

But it didn't ring right to Vaschel. In truth, he would have blindly trusted the innocence of the request if he hadn't known that the boy had _been through a lot recently, _so to speak. "What for? Don't you think you should worry about Jezebel first?" he questioned thoughtfully but not unkindly.

"Actually, I'm thinking that's none of your damn business—no offence," Mason replied with a new air of impatience that only served to fuel Vaschel's suspicion.

"She isn't here. Send a letter, you can figure something out from there. Hurry up, I'll make sure the guards don't bother you," advised the Master in a tone that suggested the subject had been closed.

Mason surveyed his elder thoughtfully before replacing his helmet, almost leisurely, and reworking the grip of his giant two-handed axe. "Fine, be an asshole about it. If we make enough noise, she'll show up anyway," he growled.

Dawnn, leaning against the post, had prodded his rib back into place, only to push too hard just before he had a chance to the fracture back together. With an audible gasp he jerked his head back up, gazing urgently between the two. "Vaschel, give her up! This really _isn't _our business!" he pleaded. This would end painfully for someone.

Vaschel ignored the voice of reason, tendons tightening as he pulled a broad, thick steel shield off of his back and over his head. "This is a foolish venture," he growled with an authority that he did not really feel. This was the last position on Azeroth in which he wanted to find himself.

The human did not reply. Instead, his boots resounded heavily against the stone as he took a running step forward and a powerful swing. The blade clanged against the shield and Vaschel had ample time to tear his sword free of its sheath. He did not swing it, or take any other aggressive action beyond pushing hard against his shield, shoving Mason backward. "Damnit, boy, I don't want to hurt you!"

"Then stay out of it, Vaschel!" Dawnn hollered from the sidelines, brows knitting with irritation, though is protests were in part hypocritical. He did, in fact, have some idea where the subject of the dispute likely resided at that very moment and could call it out at any time he chose.

//SET LOCATION: SUNFURY SPIRE

Emerging from the mystic portal that was the Orb of Translocation, Lisys squealed a pathetic "ooo!" and shielded her eyes, only daring to peek through her fingers. For five years, or ever since she had begun this existence, she had resided in the quiet dark of Deathknell, Tirisfal Glades. At first painful, the sunny, optimistic warmth and bright pastels ripped away any unhappy thoughts of that necromancer or Nadia or Saiynt or Scourge in general for the time being.

"Hm. It's different, isn't it?" Negate asked as if he had just realized it himself. "But don't let it fool you—Silvermoon City is the capital of political unrest right now. Don't wander off, okay?"

Awe-struck, the undead followed him very closely. Outside on the street—past the glowing Orb of Translocation and Lor'Themar Theron's endless council with trusted advisers—the scene was twice as intense. The golden rays of the sun bathed the courtyard with such bright, glaring light, the likes of which she wasn't certain she'd ever seen before—not even while she was alive and Tirisfal Glades was a happy place. The streets were white and pink, the buildings also but with splashes of gold and blue-purple billowy curtains and high stained glass with yellow-red autumn trees and crystal city lights a beautiful fountain… No wonder Negate was so angry to leave it for the likes of Deathknell.

"Don't gawk; you stand out enough as it is," Negate advised, snatching a hold of her wrist to pull her along. "I'll show you everything, eventually, don't worry."

"Oh, sorry! This is all very new, but I'm not worried about it. I'm most excited to meet your friends, anyway," she chirped optimistically, turning her head in every which way as she stumbled along behind him. Vaguely, she was aware that a City Guardian passing her on the left had spared her a strange gaze, but in truth the attention he paid her was minimal. An unbelievable relief. "Is this place used to foreigners?"

The warlock scanned the area all around him, as if refamiliarizing himself with it, as he tugged Lisys along. "It's the capital—at one time, foreigners were very, very common here… not zombies, of course. But there are emissaries now. Actually, this reminds me, ah… you realize you're here to meet my sister, right?"

"Sure—you said she begged you for three pages to bring me," Lisys reminded happily, casting a last admiring gaze to the elaborate fountain as they left the Court of the Sun behind to descend down unto the gloomy, shady Murder Row. The scene was substantially different here—with banners and tarps overhead to obscure the intense sunlight, the city's only section below sea level effectively dampened the exhilaration she felt above; yet still a far cry from Deathknell.

"Right, well, she's never seen you before," Negate reminded haughtily.

For the moment, Lisys's spirit dampened and she stopped immediately, locking her heels in the ground. "Why would you bring me here to meet her if you didn't think she would really want to meet me?" she asked, voice cracking with hurt more than anger. Was she to be the butt of some cruel joke?

"Well that isn't the only reason!" Negate contested, offended by her unspoken accusations that he was paying her anything other than a huge favor. "I wouldn't have returned home so quickly without your help, honestly—but I had nothing to offer you. It weighed my conscience," he scoffed as if it were an obvious explanation though he had felt strangely ashamed to admit before.

Hesitantly, she followed. In some ways she was reluctant to believe that he would think so sincerely about her, in others she was excited at the mere possibility. "Oh! Th, thank you. But the deal was that you'd help me—"

"And nothing turned up, remember? I'm not saying she'll treat you," a smirk crossed his lips, "quite like I do. But she might be scared at first. Nothing is for certain; I just thought I would warn you beforehand."

"Scared of _me_…?" Lisys sighed, but nodded her head. She wasn't sure if that hurt more or less than teasing, but she couldn't say she'd blame the girl, either. If she were alive and Negatory was the zombie, wouldn't she feel the same?

Negate reached behind him, once more snatching up her wrist. "You're not paying attention again! I don't want to lose you," he growled, turning into a doorway she'd almost missed completely.

Inside, the crystal lights were kept low and the broad color scheme outside suddenly shifted to deep purples and blues—to the elves this was fashionable (naturally, since one wouldn't be caught dead without adequate interior design) but to Lisys the place seemed tacky. Cleverly, she did not mention this to Negate. "What is this?"

"This building is an Inn. I usually stay here," he paused to waive arrogantly at the inn keeper, notably a female, before glancing behind him at Lisys once more, "but right now we're just passing through. It's got an entrance on the other side to the commerce quarter."

"It's rude to cut through places like this…" Lisys muttered disapprovingly but distracted, focusing instead on his fingers around her wrist. He was still mean sometimes, but he didn't seem so disgusted by her anymore. Maybe he was mean to everyone, and not just her? She would have to remember to ask.

"Hm. You haven't been here very long," Negate smirked, pointing across the walkway as they emerged on the other side of the inn. "That's Vaschel and my sister."

"Th- there?" Lisys cracked, pointing with him. She'd been nervous-excited for days off and on, between other concerns, but nothing like this; suddenly, nerves became the sharp climax of dread. The brief second of horror, of they're-so-pretty-they'll-never-like-me, was overwhelming enough without the confusion that followed

The man, Vaschel, _the drunk paladin_ she'd heard plenty about, scared her senseless. Lisys was expecting an elf, like Negate, to be about Negate's size. _This _elf dwarfed nearly all humans she knew, the only exception being Sihner Xanthic—a very noteworthy accomplishment. He was attractive enough, with long-silver hair and pinkened, living skin, and well built—all qualities of the intimidating.

One time, a mean-spirited engineer passing through Deathknell fired a rocket at Lisys as a sort of practical joke-that device came to mind watching the female elf who effortlessly cleared the distance between them in the space of seconds, nearly knocking her brother bodily to the ground. Her size was on the opposite end of the spectrum, so tiny and lithe that Lisys might have felt large and awkward in comparison if the whole of her mental capacity was not spent trying to comprehend Negate's reaction to her.

Negatory, as Lisys already knew her to be called, looked a lot like her brother—the shapes of their faces were similar and she had the same thick, black hair and well-kept ponytail, and yet they were so different in mien it was still difficult to tell they were siblings. The polar opposite of Negate's snotty, impatient expression, her eyes lit up with compassion and excitement at the drop of a dime. Lisys would assume Negate should think this type of person very annoying—but instead, he responded to her with a little warmth of his own.

"Negate!" the tiny girl squealed, latching her arms around his neck with a jump. "_I've been so worried_!"

"Honestly… there's no cause for that," Negate scoffed, albeit gently, as he pat her hair affectionately. "You look well."

"_I'm just fine! I didn't panic, not once!" _She squealed, releasing him with a bright smile. _"But… don't just run off again, okay?"_

"Negate! _It already seems like I haven't seen you for years! Do you know what' it's like drinking alone all the time? I've missed you!" _shouted Vaschel, the paladin. He pat the warlock heavily on the head, then began to gesture loudly with his hands. "_Phasilica was supposed to be here, but I dunno what happened. I don't really like her, but at least usually she's the type of girl to be somewhere when she says she will. She's been a real bitch lately. Which reminds me, I needed you to talk to her for me about something veeery important, but not important enough to put off celebrating, and there's this great Orc I want you to meet! Let's go get druuunk! Glad you're home, buddy!" _and at the end of the string of gibberish, he bent over and planted a kiss on the side of Negate's face.

Lisys watched powerlessly, dumbfounded, only able to understand the familiar elf's half of the conversation.

"Thank you, Vaschel… but you'll have to be patient," Negate growled sarcastically, rubbing the side of his face. "Speak Orcish. She doesn't understand Thalasian and its rude."

"She?" Negatory questioned, settling her green eyes on the skittish undead standing on the sidelines. As Lisys's face contorted with nerves and fright, Negatory's alit with delight. "Ohhh! You did bring her! You did bring her!" she wrapped her arms around herself, hopping up and down as she struggled to contain herself, before bursting and closing the distance between herself and the zombie at twice the rate than she had her own brother. "Aieee!"

Every undead tissue in Lisys' body tensed, her arms pin-straight at her sides, as the petit arms of a small elf locked around her midsection—cutting the wall of cold with a crush of heat. "H… Hello…" So much for you-may-frighten-her.

"I was so excited to meet you! Nate made you sound soooo nice! He told me all about how he got stuck and wasn't experienced enough to get home but you helped him! Oh, that's sooo dramatic! Like a story! Let's be best friends!" She squealed, ponytail bobbing up and down as she rubbed her face against Lisys's shoulder. She did notice Lisys's nervous demeanor, but could not bring herself to release the zombie—far too excited.

"I—I… sure…!" Lisys answered, almost afraid to answer otherwise, though she found she was very charmed by the tiny elf's vigor.

"Negatory, mind her space," Negate ordered sternly.

"_So this is her?" _Vaschel questioned, leaning his face down inches from hers as Negatory also ignored Negate's instruction, stroking his goatee. "_Why, she's hideous! What kind of evil have you wrought upon Silvermoon, Nate? Can I exorcize it? I mean… you're done with her now, right?"_

"Vaschel! Don't talk like that about my best friend!" Negatory growled, abandoning Lisys to instead bear her teeth threateningly at the paladin.

"Nice to meet you, V- Vaschel," Lisys mumbled, feeling so much smaller beneath the behemoth's gaze without Negatory attached.

"Yes, yes, I know, she's terrifying. But you'll get used to it… and speak Orcish!" Negate reminded.

"_I don't _want _to speak Orcish. It's too hard," _the paladin scoffed, standing upright once more, much to the zombie's relief. "_If I have to speak another language, I think we should just get rid of her."_

"Vaschel!" snarled the angry voice of a woman from close by. In the midst of all the confusion, no one had witnessed her approach.

Lisys's eyes settled atop an undead priestess, tall with black hair pinned back and an unsmiling mouth. She was pretty in a regal, untouchable way, and was both scary and familiar in a way she couldn't put a finger on.

"Phasilica! _Nate's home!"_ Vaschel declared, gesturing toward Negate and Lisys.

"I see that; welcome home, Negate," she bid politely, to which he nodded with equal formality. "Stop making so much noise, Vaschel."

"And speak Orcish!" Negate repeated irately, addressed to Vaschel, then gestured between Phasilica and Lisys. "Lisys, Phasilica. Phasilica, Lisys."

At the mention of the girl's name, Phasilica's gaze wandered heavily over the other Forsakenness in suppressed surprise. "It's nice to meet you."

Lisys, for the first time in ages, caught another's gaze and held it directly for a moment, "Likewise…" before folding under the pressure of her eyes.

Somehow immediately aware of her affect on the other woman, Phasilica was quick to apologize. "I beg your pardon, I don't mean to stare," she pronounced in her usual, quiet way, but somehow more compassionate—so much more that all three elves quieted a moment. "I just… excuse me, I cannot for the life of me understand… why someone would name a child something like that," she forced finally, again with more understanding than any had known her to feel, despite the bad-mannered content of the statement.

Clearly unoffended, Lisys brightened with relief. "Oh! I understand—don't worry about it. There's actually a story behind it."

Likewise relaxing, Phasilica smiled somewhat. "Oh, I'll admit I am relieved. I'd love to hear it, if you don't mind."

Vaschel gave Negate a quizzical glance, who waived him off. He opened his mouth to inquire, but another eruption from Negatory interrupted.

"Ohhh tell it to me too! Tell it to me too! You can tell it while we show you around! You want a full tour, don't you? Ah, please tell it to me too!" she squealed.

"Ah, s- sure!" Lisys nodded skittishly, the mere charm of the tiny elf warming her soul. Vaschel made her nervous, and Negate was still kind of an asshole—but even in the short time she'd spent with them, she felt safe with the women.

"_Look! The dead girls and your sister are getting along famously! You're free!" _Vaschel declared, starting to push and shove Negate back toward Murder Row.

"Speak Orcish!" Negate snarled, shooting Vaschel an angry glare. "I can't just abandon my guest with my sister and Phasilica."

"Sure you can!" Negatory cooed, again latching her arms around Lisys possessively. "I've verified you're alive and healthy, I don't really need you anymore!"

Negate crossed his arms, frowning pointedly at his sibling. "You ungrateful brat! I busted my ass just to see you again!"

Unphased, she merely giggled. "Go have fun! I won't let Lisys out of my sight!"

Phasilica immediately recognized the impracticality of the smallest elf's statement and quickly added, "I'll keep them out of trouble."

"Ah…" Negate stared at them for a moment, unsure if he was comfortable allowing Phasilica to babysit his company. However he felt, the subject closed completely a second later as his energetic younger waved and broke into a sprint, scarcely giving Lisys time to wave.

Out-of-character, Phasilica appeared amused and picked up her robes to chase them.

As the three figures disappeared, Vaschel scratched the back of his neck and allowed confusion to paint itself over his face. "I guess Negatory is just like that, but… Phasilica sure warmed up to your new friend quickly." Suspicion took hold next as he looked away from the path and to Negate directly. "She's not, like, a witch, is she?"

A familiar smirk spread across Negate's face. He hadn't realized just how much he missed this drunk idiot until faced with him again. "No, Vaschel, she's not a witch. Actually, I'm not surprised… I'm starting to wonder if Lisys isn't some sort of lesbian affection magnet."

"Some sort of _what?_" Vaschel questioned, high, long eyebrows lifted in confusion.

"In Tirisfal Glades, it seemed every time I turned around, some woman was hitting on her," Negate explained nonchalantly. "Some crazy deathknight, Fabricate, this leatherworker would climb all over her."

The paladin's eyes widened sizably. He glanced from Negate to the direction the women had gone, then back. "Really? … I'm asking her out!" he announced before turning away once more to begin after them.

Negate started and followed, a darkness casting over his expression. "Lisys!? … What the hell for!? A moment ago you were calling her ugly!"

"She is ugly! You thought so too! But I'm a drunk—and who looks at their faces anyway?" he snickered, swatting the warlock away. "You were alone with her for five days. If you wanted on that, you should have gotten to work way before now."

Impatience nearly gave way to anger. "That has nothing to do with it! Damnit, Vaschel, you touch her, I'll rip your eyebrows off!" Negate growled, reiterating a threat he'd learned from the very man.

More amused than worried, Vaschel paused, smirking. "Calm down! I'm kidding! You know I like tough girls, anyway!" Returning to his general good-natured mien, he tossed an arm around Negate's shoulders. "Quit being so pissy—we've got partying to do."

*END: CHAPTER 17*


	19. Chapter 18

*BEGIN: CHAPTER 18*

//SET LOCATION: NEW AVALON

"Hm." Saiynt released her hold on the bloodied shirt of another pitiful, tight-lipped human. Fresh cuts and blunt-force bruises were spread violently over his body with the final, fatal wound smack-center on his abdomen, the brutal focal point of a morbid masterpiece. The mortal injury consisted of a small, perfectly rounded hole that pooled enough blood to make any lesser warrior squeamish.

"We autta find a pregnant lady. They a'ways talk 'cuz they aut they unborn child to think about," she advised, kicking the body lightly.

With a scowl, Sihner Xanthic promptly removed the twin set of hot pokers from the over-zealous female and turned back toward Town Hall where a Captain stood guard with a Scarlet Medic resolutely behind. The Captain ran, the priest did not.

After twenty some years off and on as a prison guard, Sihner had executed an interrogation or two.

The Scarlet Medic watched his captain run in the face of the approaching death knights with disdain, before clutching his staff at the ready. "These lands be cleansed—the light will protect me!" he shouted angrily, covering the fear in his voice as he raised his hands to prepare a holy smiting.

While Saiynt appeared enthralled with the gathering yellow-white luminescence between his hands, Sihner seized the man's wrist and pinned it to the wall behind him with one hot poker stuck straight through the center of his palm to a wood stud in the building behind. The cast was interrupted.

"What is the Crimson Dawn?" He demanded, the harsh lows of his distinctive voice reminiscent of gravel rolling over gravel.

The medic shrieked and howled in pain, grasping desperately at the metal stake through his hand with such ferocity that his struggling only quickened the bleeding, hindering the opposite hand from frimly embracing the foreign body.

Sihner adjusted his weight to his heels passively, reaching behind his head for his sword. "You're going to die. How is up to you."

Saiynt recotnized the distinct scent blood takes at high volumes. Stepping forward, Saiynt swayed lightly, running her tongue over cold lips. "K'eye see tha other one?"

Sihner watched the victim squirm a moment longer, then resettled his sword in its sheath and returned the extra poker to Saiynt. "Go crazy."

The holy man's eyes expanded to dinner plate proportions. "N- no! No!" he howled, clutching at his wrist as if he thought he could squeeze off his hand. "I'll talk! I'll tell you everything!"

"Ah hardly even cauh anymore! I'm havin' fun!" Saiynt snarled, raising the metal over her head, preparing to stab the man through his eyes. Before she could perfect her aim and begin the downward thrust, however, Sihner wrapped his hand around hers.

"Talk," he spurred.

Their victim swallowed, struggling to clear his mind amply and form real words. "Ah… I… we… we've been told that the _Crimson Dawn _is an awakening. The light speaks to the High General. The light…" his voice cracked pathetically as his eyes welled. "…The light guides us. The movement was set in motion before you came. We… We do as we are told. It is what must be done. I know very little else! The High General chooses who may go and who must stay behind. There's nothing else." By the end, he was sobbing.

"You're lying!" Saiynt snarled, struggling to pull her fist from her lover's grip. "I own't let family lie to me, you think I let you feed me horseshit?! I'll pop every-fuckin-one a ya bones out! The pain you about to endure will be talked about for yeuhs ta come!" with every word spoken, her voice became heavier with rage as she twisted her wrist like a mad woman. Finally, her elbow popped and in the interest of her well-being, Sihner let go.

"No please! There is one more thing!" the preacher called hysterically, his shoulders convulsing as Saiynt closed the distance between them in a bound, throwing herself so heavily against him that the plate armor left bruises. "A courier comes soon! From Hearthglen, it…" he sobbed before Saiynt sunk her teeth into the soft exposed skin in the man's throat, silencing him permanently. Thick, metallic blood oozed through her teeth as she plunged the business end of the metal stake through his stomach, and their victim was dead.

Saiynt disengaged her red-streaked blue mouth from the dead man's throat as he went limp. She pressed her nose to the side of his face, hissing her words so that blood and spit spattered his wide eyes as she held him upright by her chest. "Teach ya to forget shit." Then, satisfied, she backed away so that the body could fall, suspended only by his right hand, and turned back to Sihner.

The more responsible of the two moved around her to retrieve the _persuasion tools_ from the deceased, in the interest of returning them to their rightful owner. He knocked the stake through the man's hand sideways, widening the hole in the wall stud and pulled it from the dead man's hand with ease. Bending his head to retrieve the metal stake from the abdomen of the slumped body was a different story. As soon as he bent his head, a pop resounded in his ears from the base of his neck and a searing pain ensued. He stopped, a hand instinctively throwing itself over the area. As suspected, something didn't feel right.

"Ya'okay?" Saiynt asked, concern—a mismatched emotion to the girl—alighting itself on her face.

"Fine," he answered flatly, bending his knees instead. He ripped the remaining poker from the body, the rigid plates of bone grinding together with every movement of his arm. More than the pain, the deafening sound in his ears was maddening. Standing, he passed the metal persuaders to Saiynt.

"Return those," he ordered and stalked off in the opposite direction without explanation.

// SET LOCATION: SILVERMOON CITY

"Well, my mother actually didn't think she could have any children but she wanted one very, very much, and her life was miserable, or so I hear… So she thought that after I was born things would get better, not immediately, but slowly… so that's why she named me Lisys. I mean, she spelled it wrong, really it's L-Y-S-I-S, but we were poor so she was uneducated… am I making any sense?" Lisys whimpered.

"You're doing just fine," Phasilica answered plainly.

"That was a beautiful story!" Negatory squealed, so caught up by the fairy-tale-esque of the event of her new best friend's birth that she completely forgot to ask what a _lysis _actually was. "Ohhhh come see the Bazaar! It's the prettiest place in the whole city, I think. I just know you'll be impressed. Mind if I run ahead? I want to see if I can find this rabbit for you—she's always by the benches and ooooh she's so cute!"

"No, by all means, I like animals, so—okay…" Lisys mumbled as Negatory sprinted ahead, eyebrows raised behind thick leather straps. She felt more relaxed with Phasilica and Negatory than she did most—but between the bombardment of new stimuli and Negatory's barrage of questions, comments, concerns, hopes and aspirations, Lisys was beginning to feel dizzy. The undead truly found the little elf fascinating—not so much her story, but rather her connection to Negate, and of course the strange behavior—but at the same time, was beginning to feel ragged.

"Are you all right?" asked Phasilica, the taller undead beside her.

"Yes, fine, just…" Lisys stalled, struggling for the appropriate adjective to describe Negatory. Failing, she smiled instead and said, "I was just thinking, that if the sun were to shine in Tirisfal again, it would feel something like talking to her."

Phasilica covered her mouth with her hand, giggling lightly; the first time Lisys had seen the woman laugh in the several hours Negatory had been leading them in circles. There was a certain element of elegance to everything the woman did—sometimes, Lisys almost sensed that this Forsakenness really fit in to Quel'Thalas. She decided that Phasilica was fascinating, too, and laughed with her.

"Don't worry, she's not as unnatural as she seems," Phasilica chuckled, shaking her head lightly. "She is hyper now, yes, but she doesn't sustain this all day. She naps once or twice a day and is always asleep early," she paused, casting her gaze to the darkening sky, and Lisys looked with her. It was completely unlike home—almost surreal in its beauty—with healthy purple-blue hues as opposed to a sickly green sky with no sunset to speak of. Even the stars, still pale in the might of the passing sun, twinkled more vibrant, more alive. "Actually, I'm surprised she isn't sleeping now. But she's more excited than usual."

"I found her! Here she is!" Negatory squealed, bounding around a tree with a frightened rabbit clutched tightly against her chest. He was brown with white spots, and even Phasilica thought it was cute, but more importantly, they were concerned for the critter's health.

"Negatory, put him down! He is still a wild animal, and he could bite!" Phasilica ordered, voice weary.

With a disappointed sigh, Negatory did as instructed, allowing the relieved creature to sprint away. "Oh, okay… I was getting a little sleepy anyway. Lisys, would you think I was just awful if we headed to Phasilica's flat? I'm sure she won't mind if you stay there, too… will you, Phasilica?"

"Of course not! I couldn't put her up anywhere else, what with hoodlums such as Vaschel and your brother running about," Phasilica scoffed, indignation overtaking her cool face.

The change was immediate. Much slower, almost dragging, Negatory rejoined the Forsakens, though she was still smiling. "They aren't hoo… they aren't those things, Phasilica!"

"Negate seemed plenty calm, except while in the pursuit of some tart…" Lisys commented, before covering her mouth and flashing a frightened, apologetic look toward Negatory.

"Don't worry yourself over it, of course I've noticed the same thing!" Negatory cooed, impressed with Lisys's intense desire to please.

"In time you'll grow accustomed, Lisys, many elves are similar. If this race has a problem, it's over-indulgence—alcohol, sex, magic; if it feels good, a great many of them will partake too much."

"Oh… certainly would explain a lot," Lisys answered, intrigued.

Negatory's ears slumped, in the same manner as would her brother's if something had upset him, forcing a guilty smile to broaden across Lisys's face. Just when she was sure she'd grasped the full _cuteness _of these people, Negatory shattered it all.

"But not me, right, Phasilica?" she whimpered.

Unsure of the best way to politely dodge the question, the undead was saved by the ear-rupturing sound of shattering glass very close by.

Energy temporarily returned, Negatory rushed through the gate to Murder Row, a very small detour from their destination, and peeked her petite head out to examine the noise with a giggle. The undeads were close behind.

"You're cheating!" Vaschel insisted, seated rather comfortably on the cement with his arm resting on a stock pile of cheap alcohol, Dawnn close beside.

"How could I cheat!?" Negate growled, turning back on his friends with frustration. "A total stranger is calling it!" In an over-emphasized gesture, he pointed to the left, where the large orcish warrior, Endian, stood, appearing a bit dazed.

"What's going on?" Lisys whispered, brow ridges furrowing.

"They're throwing bottles at that target," Negatory explained, pointing to a shoddily painted target deviously vandalizing the Silvermoon City Inn. "Dawnn explained this to me once; it's how they pass time until it gets dark. They throw the empty bottles—whoever is closest to the center wins, the other two have to empty bottles for the next round. Dawnn said that Negate always wins because Vaschel starts out drunk and he's a terrible shot. The orc is Endian, Vaschel's new friend. Looks like he's calling it," she finished very matter-of-factually.

_Dawnn? _Lisys thought, deciding Negatory meant the angelic-looking elf beside Vaschel.

"How charming. Light save Silvermoon," Phasilica scowled disapprovingly, deciding she'd seen enough. The younger two hurried after.

"He did hit the center," Endian advised, not entirely sure how he'd found himself wrapped up in this whole situation.

"Why would he lie for me?" Negate demanded impatiently.

"You've known him longer than I have! You're practically brothers!" Vaschel, who could suddenly speak Orcish just fine, crossed his arms with a growl, then let them fall to his sides again. "It would almost seem you're far more well-connected than you let on. I learned a lot while you were gone! It appears you've been pounding Fae Adams."

Endian turned a questioning gaze to Dawnn, the only elf he'd met so far who even seemed capable of—or cared enough to—explain what was going on at any given moment in a clear, logical order. Dawnn shook his head and waved it off, signaling that Endian didn't want to know, and the orc trusted his judgment.

"What!?" Negate laughed, shaking his head. "No. She's just an acquaintance."

Vaschel picked up a bottle, standing to take his shot. "Ahhh, but to know her is to love her." The bottle was so far off of even the outer ring, one would assume he missed on purpose.

Endian stared in disbelief. "What was that!? I'm almost starting to think you like losing."

"I am not even _interested _in Fae Adams," Negate scoffed, then laughed lightly as Dawnn stood. "I lost my virginity to her sister, though. Wasn't much of a loss."

Dawnn spun around mid-throw, and the bottle fell short of the target. "You're kidding! She told me her sisters aren't loose!"

Endian scratched his head. "I think Negate's going to win this round again."

"Yeah, me too," Vaschel frowned, staring at Negate skeptically.

"Hah! She _lied_! If anything they're worse. She probably didn't want to share you; Fae has a very intense light fetish, if you haven't noticed," Negate scoffed, standing. He started to pick up a bottle, but Vaschel stopped him.

"How many sisters does Fae have, exactly?"

Negate mulled it over, a little buzzed, before answering. "Three."

Vaschel glanced around to Endian, Dawnn, and Negate. "…Well! I know where we're going next."

"Where?" Endian scratched his head.

"Ugh, have fun," Dawnn waved Vaschel off. "My head hurts as it is, and I have to get up early tomorrow."

Negate gave Dawnn a strange look. "…I wonder about you, sometimes."

"What!?" Vaschel demanded, hoisting a plethora of alcohol under his arm. "Fine, be a queer then. Where's your mother?"

Dawnn scowled, standing quickly and leaning forward confrontationally. "She won't go with you either, Vaschel. She's out stalking Eversong. Someone said they saw a death knight, so the city guard asked her to look around tonight," he informed rigidly.

Endian instinctively glanced south, toward the city's front gate. What would a death knight want there? Nothing but a few big cats and the straggling Scourge that the undead prince had left behind.

Negate frowned—this wasn't good at all. When the men-to-women ratio was uneven, it wasn't uncommon to run into problems with jealousy—especially among sisters.

Vaschel quirked an eyebrow—who would fall for a dumb hoax like that?—but his smile never failed. "I'm sure I could find someone else to take over for a while. I can't remember the last time Daynha got trashed with us. It'll be fun! Don't worry, I'll carry her home. Sweet dreams!"

Negate nodded, smirking. "Vaschel will take good care of your mother, I'll make sure," he added, pushing broken glass against the building with his foot, lest some child run through.

"_Ugh! _No, I'll go get her if need be," Dawnn groaned, rubbing his forehead disdainfully.

"And you will. So," Vaschel shifted the alcohol, starting up the stairs, Negate in tow, "what's the point of going to bed?"

"Where are we going?" Endian repeated, scratching his head as he trailed after.

Heaving a sigh, Dawnn followed suit.

Meanwhile, in the tranquil silence and neutral décor of Phasilica's apartment, Lisys had finally escaped the overload of new and regained the ability to feel honest, but quiet, confusion.

"Can she really sleep like that?" Lisys asked, head tilted, watching Negatory snooze soundly hanging upside down over the arm of the love seat.

Phasilica covered her mouth with a careful laugh, shaking her head. "Not for more than a few minutes, I'm sure. She'll curl back into the couch when it gets uncomfortable," she explained, giving the small space a quick once-over to ensure everything was in its place. Company—regardless of whom—made her overly-conscious of every small detail. "Are you tired, Lisys?"

"No, ma'am… I was, but now…" she pulled her gaze to the floor to speak to Phasilica, but paused to see the other woman was frowning at her. "…I- I'm sorry, is that wrong?"

"Lisys—we're dead. Class doesn't really matter anymore; please, use my first name," the Forsakenness requested a bit harshly, but quickly added more gently, "you're my guest, after all. Do you want to see more of the city before we retire?"

Lisys shook her head airily, less self-conscious of her mistakes in the presence of this woman and Negate's spritely sister as opposed to the man himself. "I've seen most already, haven't I? And I don't want to burden you." In truth, she wasn't really sure how much of the city she had seen—and with her ineptitudes, the undead could take her around again and successfully convince her it was an entirely different city if she pleased.

"We're very close to the city gates if you'd like to see Eversong Forest, then," Phasilica offered. "It's very pretty at night."

"Eversong Forest?" Lisys echoed, tilting her head.

Phasilica stood and took a step toward Lisys, offering her hands to help the other woman to her feet. So it was settled, then. "The wood surrounding this city. There are a few ravenous cats and the like, but nothing you couldn't handle on your own much less in my company. I can teach you a lot out there, if you like," she offered almost cheerfully.

Lisys took her hands sheepishly, forcing down her excitement. "Actually, I am very curious about these people, this place…"

"I gathered," Phasilica returned, leading Lisys to the door by her hand. As if she could read minds, she added, "Negatory will be all right here alone."

Descending the steps to exit the small space, Lisys kept her eyes trained on Phasilica's hand on hers until they were out on the street. "Negatory is very different from her brother. If they didn't look so similar, I never would have thought they were related."

"Mm. I felt the same. She led… leads… a very sheltered life."

"Is she honestly 20 years old?" Lisys asked, then started. "I don't mean to be rude! I think she is very, very cute; but by the time I was twenty I had been married for two years already…" she faltered shyly.

"Dear, don't get so flustered," Phasilica spoke gently, setting a hand atop Lisys's head. "You won't offend me with something so simple. Do you want to know a secret?"

Lisys nodded, still feeling a bit stupid. Around her, the city had changed dramatically in the brief moments she'd spent inside Phasilica's flat. The sun was gone completely and the streets instead were illuminated by the soft blue glow of unidentifiable crystals. The streets were now eerily bare, even in comparison to the too few citizens about during the day. It was all very pretty, but very much like a museum, with a foreboding sense of 'look, but don't touch' everywhere, combined with the creepy quiet of dusk.

"I think Negate might suffer a bit of 'needs-to-be-needed' disorder," the undead smirked softly, then frowned. "It's crippled her, sadly."

"Is that a real disorder?" Lisys asked, feeling anticipation welling in her chest as they winded through the front gate to the city.

"It would seem so. I can't really blame him; it seems like it's been the same story his whole life. His mother was ill from his birth," Phasilica explained, holding her arms out as they emerged unto Eversong Forest. "It's pretty, isn't it?"

Lisys took a glance around, but could not resist a twinge of some very unpleasant feeling dampening her excitement. "He… he told you all that?" She asked, turning back to Phasilica.

Phasilica lowered her hands, guiding Lisys down the left stairwell and onto the stone walkway, but then off of the path and into the grass. "He wasn't kind to you, was he?"

Lisys felt as if she could blush again as she scurried after. "What do you mean?"

"He wasn't nice to me either, at first. Be patient, enjoy the sights; he will come around, if he hasn't already," she answered, cooly.

"Thank you… It is pretty out here." Lisys looked to the ground, not from shame but because the very grass beneath her feet was alive and healthy in a way she hadn't seen for years, and she wanted to remember it. Suddenly a loud, unsettling screech from the west jerked her attention upwards once more. "What's that way?"

"The Dead Scar, nothing new or pretty there. But we could look at if you like," Phasilica offered, gesturing to their right.

"You should take her up on the offer. You might feel more at home there," advised a voice Lisys didn't recognize. Taking a half-turn toward the ornate overpass leading straight into the city, she encountered the source: a small elf, female, no taller than Negatory though she appeared so courtesy of hard, plate armor. A holy warrior, or so she gathered. If it weren't for the clear hostility in her voice and her very stance, Lisys might have thought her cute.

"Wh- who's this?" Lisys asked, glancing at Phasilica, almost frightened.

"Run under the bridge and back into the city," Phasilica ordered, all emotion draining from her voice as she pushed Lisys rather forcefully to the right.

"Eee! Yes ma'am--!" Lisys squeaked, stumbling beneath the overpass and nearly losing her balance. She caught a support and steadied herself, turning back to see Phasilica draw the darkness of the midnight shadows unto herself, a long drag of unholy power that burst through the woman inside, etching away the physical presence of her body until it was dark navy and purple itself, weaving like the night air.

"I warned you, that if I ever caught you outside the city…" the warrior growled, stepping leisurely down from the overpass. Beneath the woman's feet, an intricate pattern of circles and symbols erupted, traced in strings of orange and red hot light and disappeared again quickly as she traded auras.

"I don't want to hurt you," Phasilica hissed, though Lisys would have guessed from her tone that her new friend did, in fact, want to hurt the other woman.

"A bit late for that, isn't it?" Daynha asked, drawing her sword.

Phasilica threw a shoulder back, raising her hands with an intangible black-green light exploding around her fingertips. "This is a foolish venture!" she warned for the last time.

Daynha did not heed; instead, as Lisys watched with fascination, she lunged at her heated enemy with a heavy slash of her sword. Phasilica dodged the brunt, only the point catching her cheek as she threw her hand into the air and cursed the woman with the touch of a vampire. The effect was nearly immediate—the fiery redhead yelped as the magic sliced through her heart and converted her holy life force into small fragments of magic, ready to be devoured by the dark form of the undead.

She swung again, this time mashing the taller woman in the shoulder, knocking her off balance for a moment but not before Phasilica had conjured a cloud of dark energy from the netherworld and shrouded the holy woman within, causing a searing pain to likewise strip away at her life.

With two wicked magics snaring her very well being, the elf brought a hammer of light from within herself and delivered such a crushing blow to the Forsakenness that she dropped the next spell immediately, left standing and stupid. Another surge of light, the heavy weight of a judgment, fell hard upon her shoulders complete with the sear of a virtuous seal unleashed, and still she could not drag herself from the skull-cracking stupor until the thick steel sword had sliced into her cold middle thrice more. Lisys was on the verge of crying out when she saw the priestess lift her head and step back, a sneer, somehow still aristocratic, further shadowing her face.

"I am sick to death of your nonsense!" Phasilica snarled, mitigating the darkness through her body to unleash the unholy hell of a mind blast, a nasty explosion of energy between the ears, with an appearance just as unpleasant, seeming to erupt from the woman's eyes.

After a last futile swing, the woman fell with a yelp as the tickers on her life, vampiric touch and shadow word: pain, cleared another section of health, and then another.

Phasilica's expression softened as she released the shadows that clung to her, a hissing exhale as her body became real again. Her robe was torn. "Don't die," she ordered more than sympathized, whispering to what was left of the light that still headed her call, she bestowed a weak blessing on the former enemy, a spell that visibly began to restore the woman's life force in chunks every few seconds.

"M- ma'am, what… what did that woman want?" Lisys asked, peeking out of hiding.

Phasilica turned to Lisys with a start, frowning. "…I thought I told you to return to the city!"

Lisys took a step back with a sheepish whimper, casting her gaze to the ground. "I'm sorry, I…"

"It's all right," Phasilica answered more gently, immediately regretting her harsh tone as she stepped closer to her unhappy junior. "I don't suppose I blame you for wanting to bear witness. Her name is Daynha Highnoon, and she's had it out for me ever since—" she cut herself off with a harsh yelp in unison with a squeak from Lisys as a yellow-white explosion collided with the back of her head, an exorcism.

Spinning around, Phasilica found that the elf was standing, clutching her sword once more even as she bled between her eyes. Daynha did not hesitate to throw her hand before her, slamming another hefty judgment onto the priestess's shoulders.

"You little bitch!" Phasilica snarled, anger tenfold what she had ever experienced gripping every syllable. She did not call the darkness to her again but laid the same curses as before unto the weakened paladin as she attempted to rush the undead but instead fell short, collapsing again into the stone as the curses stripped away her life more quickly than the holy spell could renew her.

"She doesn't trust the Forsaken," Phasilica finished, stating the obvious as she exhaled, crossing the remaining distance between herself and the suffering elf. "I have to take her to someone who can heal her wounds without paying for it. Do you want to wait here?"

"Ahh, that would be fine…" Lisys muttered dazedly, leaning back against the bridge. Suddenly she felt very tired and deeply wished she had opted to stay in the loft in the first place; but she would not dream of further burdening Phasilica with her presence as she searched frantically for a healer. She would rest on the stone until the priestess returned.

Phasilica bent to lift the headstrong Daynha from the stone, draping her arms around her shoulders. The woman was over a half-foot shorter than she, and awkward to aid. Thankfully, she was also wounded and delirious, or the priestess would be forced to fight the woman for the interest of Daynha's own life—not a struggle to be endured while her patience had been thinned so much already.

"It will only take me a second," Phasilica soothed, dragging the redhead none-too-gently up the hard stairs. "I'll explain everything better when I return."

"Sure," Lisys answered, forcing her best attempt at a cheery smile as the women disappeared. Negate was dead serious when he told her that Silvermoon City was a place of political upheaval, she decided; a pretty city like a gilded bird cage. Still, he liked it, and so she liked it. And she liked his friends, too; especially his sister and the sweet but sobering Phasilica, but the drunk made her a bit nervous. She also liked the weather, always warm and not cloudless but enough sun to soothe the frost from her dead bones and a plethora of living creatures for her to admire…

Just as the Forsakenness found herself nodding off, she jerked her head upwards again at the sound of heavy footsteps—plate. Fearing the paladin had hurt Phasilica and was returning or that perhaps there had always been more than one, she stood and drew her sword frightfully—a futile gesture guided by the will to preserve her existence for however long. She was surprised to find, however, that it was not another holy warrior that approached, but in fact the exact opposite. A tall death knight eased out of the shadows with a heavy step, face obscured by a hood and race by black armor.

"Nadia?" questioned the unearthly figure, in a low, angry yet monotone female's voice; it was vaguely reminiscent, but one Lisys was certain she did not recognize.

*END: CHAPTER 18*


	20. Chapter 19

*BEGIN: CHAPTER 19*

//SET LOCATION: SILVERMOON CITY

"Fairbreeze Village! We are going to Fairbreeze Village to introduce you to some very good friends of ours," Vaschel explained, finally easing Endian's curiosity. "It's a trip, but it will be the most worthwhile trip you have ever taken."

"I… see," Endian returned, unsure.

"And this is all possible because of Negate! I'm so happy you're home!" Vaschel cooed, leaning over to press his lips to Negate's face. "Muaaah!"

Negate leaned in the opposite direction, wiping furiously at his cheek. "Thanks, Vaschel," he growled irately.

Endian raised his eyebrows. "Yes, I've meant to apologize for all of the trouble that raid caused you. It was bad practice on our part."

"The raid group wasn't really the problem; they only dragged me so far as the Ruins of Lordaeron. The real problem was Fabricate. That rotten witch led me out into the middle of nowhere!" Negate scoffed. "But karma is cruel. Last Lisys and I ran into her, we left her in the hands of some ridiculous orc named _Beatstick._"

"That seems like a good name for a tank," Vaschel sighed enviously.

Dawnn flashed the other knight a winning smile. "It certainly beats _Vaschel,_" which earned him a hateful stare.

"Wait—whom?" Endian asked with a high sense of urgency. "He wasn't a warrior, was he?"

Negate nodded. "He was, as a matter of fact—a very poor excuse, but… Are you feeling all right?"

Just as they were nearing the Sheppard's Gate, Endian turned in the exact opposite direction. "I apologize—I need to make a run to Tirisfal Glades," he announced, sprinting away without any time for protesting, calling a black wolf as he ran.

"Hey—wait!" Vaschel called after, following the orc two steps as he disappeared from sight. "Damnit, foiled again…"

Negate stared after the warrior, immersed in a cloud of confusion. "And he seemed like such a balanced individual, too. I wonder what's gotten into him. Do you suppose that—" the elf paused, turning to see that neither paladin was looking at him anymore, but rather both were staring very intently toward the gate, all limbs stiff with tension. There was an unexpected seriousness to them, two rigid holy warriors keeping quiet vigils over the night, that was unsettling. The warlock knew immediately that something was amiss. "…What is it?"

Vaschel's breath was quicker as he took one step forward, then another, concentrating on some outside force so much that he did not hear Negate's question.

"There's a death knight outside the gates," Dawnn answered hazily, likewise enthralled.

"I'll be right back…" Vaschel muttered, starting a slow jog, then a sprint for the gates. He stopped beside Gatewatcher Aendor, hailing his attention, exchanging a few words, then making off quickly with a borrowed sword and shield. In his rush, he did not notice that he had run right past Phasilica shambling along with a wounded, semiconscious Daynha over her shoulder.

Dawnn was prepared to follow Vaschel, but stopped as the women materialized, jaw dropping. "…What did you do to her!?" he demanded, quickly closing the distance between himself and his mother with the priestess. Negate followed, equally curious.

"She'll be fine," Phasilica answered absently. Head still turned in the opposite direction, toward the gate which she'd just passed Vaschel, sbhe gave Daynha a hard shove forward, away from herself. "Where's Vaschel going?"

Dawnn bent his knees, throwing his arms around the tiny knight before she could fall onto the stone. "Is that your expert opinion?" he spat hatefully. Without waiting for a response he hoisted his mother into his arms, turning away from Phasilica in open dislike and started away. "Someone should go make sure he doesn't get himself killed."

Negate could guess the source of Daynha's injuries without much thought—and that the headstrong holy warrior had likely brought them upon herself. He did not turn to watch Dawnn go. "It seems a death knight flipped the _sense undead_ trigger outside the city," he explained, weary glance trained past Phasilica, on the city walls.

The undead's dark, arched brows lifted, widening her empty eyes. "No…" she exhaled, turning sharply to chase after Vaschel.

Negate frowned. "What do you mean 'no'? Where's Lisys and my sister?!" he growled, hurrying after.

xwx

Lisys's chest heaved slowly and shallowly as all around them Eversong Forest grew darker and more distant, like falling into a deep, black pit. Running was pointless. Fighting would prove even more futile. The sickening knowledge that she was all alone and could not sway her fate rolled up her throat and closed her eyes. Powerless; she was completely powerless.

"Nadia?" repeated the death knight, the cool, impatient tone of command oozing into every action as she stepped forward.

Lisys lifted a hand and covered her eyes, pleading with the unholy shadow that when she uncovered them, she would discover this was all some scary illusion. She held her breath and started to count backwards from three, but by two the knight seized the smaller forsakenness by the throat and her hands instinctively gripped the woman's wrist. Lisys opened her eyes to find the frosty blue light belonging to the death knight's sockets was closely inspecting her.

The quiet of nature became unbearable, providing no distraction from the heavy, anticipating breath of the two unnatural creatures. As the Scourge examined her face, Lisys stared back, fearfully reaffirming her knowledge that she had never seen this woman before—even across both existences.

"No. You're not her," The black knight answered her own question, sliding her hand up to the frightened woman's face, the other placed atop her head. A stranger wasn't useful.

Lisys felt weak; nearly the entirety of her head was clasped between the powerful hands of a merciless murderess. She closed her eyes tightly, gasping with biting fear as the fingers tensed, a synapse away from jerking the base of her skull free of her neck when a resounding clash screamed through her ears—something heavy colliding with plate—the hands left her head, and her shaky knees caved.

Her legs, quivering and useless, folded neatly beneath her as she fell straight down, eyes opening with a sharp whimper as the ground met her bottom abruptly. A light wood shield with a red blood knight insignia painted proudly in the center lay in front of her.

"Uhhh?" she mumbled dumbly, tentatively touching the back of her neck; still in one piece. The death knight had released her, now lying on her back a few feet to her left. A few yards to the opposite side stood Vaschel, approaching almost leisurely as he surveyed the undeads. Still numb, it took her the entire distance, until he was right beside her retrieving his shield, to recognize who she was looking at.

Bending to pick up the buckler, he inspected her carefully for injury. She shied away, but appeared unhurt. "_Light, Daynha's been looking for a death knight all evening, and you find him the second she leaves,_" he muttered, shaking his head.

Lisys watched him speak, the meaning behind the syllables completely lost on her though she was enamored with the smooth texture of the language. The man had saved her unlife, and she wanted to thank him, but knew not what to say. Just as she was preparing to force a bland 'thanks', a sickly crackling turned her face back to the stranger. "L- look…" she mumbled instead, pointing timidly to the death knight as she rose.

She pulled herself to a sitting position chest-first, the rolling and popping of bones echoing within her body as she dragged herself to her feet. The woman's hood fell back to reveal her face, devoid of expression, with a pair of thick lips under a medium nose. Her eyes were of normal size but exploding with a cool blue light that made them appear so much larger, with small, circular gouges all around her eyes—almost as if someone had scooped small sections of skin right off of her face with a spoon. A long, thick braid spilled past her shoulders, a deep purple altered by chemicals in the ground she used to rest.

"_A woman…?" _Vaschel muttered, rubbing his eyes with his forearm as he wondered if perhaps he had drank more than he thought. Upon a second glance, he wasn't sure how he'd ever made the mistake, except that thick plate armor is exceptional at hiding even the most obvious curves, and that she was so tall—not quite level with him, but she probably stood eye-to-eye with Dawnn. He hadn't seen a woman like that since Rachel. This one similarity threatened to tug free unwanted softness toward the stranger, and he banished the thought quickly.

"My business is not with you," snarled the woman in a low, discontented alto as she lunged forward, her powerful fingers ready to swipe his face, a foolish, hot-headed endeavor. Instead her wrist collided with his shield, a solid, fixed object that was enough to completely reverse the motion and toss her over, even without hefty clash of a sword on her torso immediately after. Her back hit the ground for the second time.

Lisys quickly scrambled away backwards, pausing a few feet away to force herself to her feet only to back up several more steps and collapse onto a bench. "B- be careful…" she managed weakly, furiously brushing her hair away from her eyes to see better, a sharp contrast for a woman who's always doing the exact opposite. It was almost beyond her that anyone could be stupid enough to take on a death knight unarmored and alone—but he seemed to know exactly what he was doing.

He drove his sword downward, a half a foot away from piercing her chest piece when her boot met with a steel-capped brace on his wrist, halting the descent. Tendons taut and veins pulsing Vaschel pushed against her foot. Creaks and cracks in her knee and ankle signified his victory, and an unholy growl she withdrew her leg and rolled to the side, the point of his sword narrowly missing her torso and instead sticking in the ground.

Even injured she was quick, the fragile cracks of her bones broadening audibly as she sprung to her feet and threw her sword into the holy warrior's back, dragging yards of blood-ribbons from the deep gash. As a life thief, his ruin knit her bones back together—a futile effect that was negated a fraction of a second later as he freed his blade and turned, cracking her against the head and slamming her to the ground once more. The gaping slash in his back spilled a sheet of spatter in a perfect arc around him, soaking his white shirt all about the tear, but he was relentless and came down upon her once more.

A handful of robes gathered in her right hand, Phasilica dashed out of the city gates, stopping abruptly at the sight of combat. She spared Lisys a hurried glance, deciding she was all right, before hustling within range of Vaschel and the death knight, watching attentively.

Negate, immediately behind her, barely spared Vaschel a glance before rushing to Lisys, falling into the wooden bench beside her. His heart was racing. "Are you all right!? What happened? Where's my sister?!" he demanded, eyeing Lisys up and down. She was shaking like a leaf, but bared no physical injury as far as he could see.

"F- fine," she answered, rubbing her cheek between the leather straps where she could still almost feel the death knight's hand. Her weary nerves wanted her to thrust her arms around his neck and cry, but she fought the urge valiantly. "Your sister…? Negatory's still in the city, asleep… I'm not exactly sure what happened, but… will he be okay?" Lisys questioned numbly, pointing toward Vaschel.

"Who? Vaschel? Yeah, he's fine," Negate answered, sinking a bit beside her with relaxed relief.

Lisys stared at him in silence, expecting him to input his reasoning. When he did not, she tilted her head. "Well… how can you be sure?"

"Ahh, well it should be evident, but I know for sure by looking at Phasilica," he gestured in the appropriate direction. "She's watching closely, but her arms are crossed. If Vaschel wasn't doing well enough on his own, she'd help… usually." He sat up suddenly, eyebrow quirked. "She might be sore at him for whatever reason. Maybe I should ask."

Lisys scratched the back of her head, tilting it in the opposite direction. "N- Negate? You just… no offense… but to me it seems like you should be more upset about all this."

"I think I'm still a little drunk," he answered honestly, rubbing his eyes as if he could clear the fog away.

"Mmm…" Lisys nodded, leaning forward on her palm. If he was calm, so should she be. "Nadia, Nadia, Nadia…" she mumbled.

Abby leapt backward from a malicious swing, newly broken from a powerful stupor he'd cast upon her, an experience akin to a hammer mashing the base of her skull. Her unlife was waning—the battle was hopeless from the start. Even unarmored, he was so far ahead of her that she could not tell exactly how strong he was—but it is not in the Scourge to back away, and she was prepared to attack any living creature relentlessly until he was no longer living, he ended her existence, or her true mission was realized. As it happened, Abby feinted to the side and saw, behind the paladin, an undead watching sternly but not interfering, and the scenario spun in favor of option three.

"My business is not with you," she repeated in a low hiss, as if reminding herself more than him. She planted her feet firmly in the ground, all but ignoring a direct hit to her midsection in favor of focusing instead on the priestess.

Phasilica felt it—a vice grip around her middle—before she could process the origination of the ominous purple flash of electricity. Her chest compressed, causing a yelp and a panicked attempt to force back into her weak, rotting lungs—an attempt immediately foiled as an invisible jerk compelled her forward, her cheek smacking into the death knight's solid cuirass. The pressure finally released, and Phasilica placed her palm on the woman's chest, pushing weakly before the knight seized a fist full of her hair, toward the bottom, near the hairline.

"Abby--!" she managed through a cough before the woman yanked her black tresses, jerking her face up toward the moon.

Lisys gasped and jumped from her seat but was forced down again just as quickly by an iron grip on her wrist—Negate's.

"Stay out of it," he hissed, eyes focused hard on the confrontation, voice finally reflecting the stress she had expected to hear earlier.

She understood his point immediately—that she was a liability if she became caught in the crossfire, or worse, another hostage. Still, to watch and be powerless was infuriating, and she dug her claws into the remaining skin on her thighs.

"I will drag her back to hell with me," the woman gnarred, "if you move any closer."

Vaschel watched Phasilica more than the stranger, confusion mixing with instinct. The woman was new to her existence as a death knight, and he couldn't imagine any reason Phasilica wouldn't free herself. "…Okay," he finally agreed, shoving the sword in his belt passively.

The knight, all too trusting of this truce for Vaschel's comfort, turned her full attention back to the priestess. Her fingers tensed and in one quick motion she ripped free her fist-full of hair, uprooting it right from her scalp with such ease as a child absently pulling grass.

Phasilica bit off a scream as the knight dropped her immediately after, and gasping she fell heavily into the ground.

"Thank you, Phasilica," the knight muttered cooly, turning her back to all of them as she reached behind her, jamming the wad of hair into her bag, and stalked away almost casually.

"Phasilica!" Lisys called, standing the second the tall woman had turned around, yanking her wrist free from Negate's grasp to rush to the fallen woman's side. "Are you okay!?" she choked. With an irritated groan, Negate followed after.

Vaschel paused long enough to watch Phasilica's head pop up to give Lisys and Negate a reassuring nod, before stepping over her, taking two running steps with his shield drawn back. Long as he could still see the woman—and she was a big target—he was fairly certain he could nail her hard enough to knock her over a forth time. Aiming carefully, the tear in his shirt allowed a view of the disappearing valley of his spine as he turned at the hips slightly, a wall of hard tissue pulling his tendons all the way up to his fingers gripping the shield.

"Vaschel, let her go!" Phasilica interjected, her voice piercing his ears like a needle. He almost dropped the shield completely but regained himself, turning to her with an angry frown.

"Damnit, woman! I am not about to let a _death knight _get away!" he growled shortly before spinning on his heels to hurry within range of his adversary once more.

Lisys, sitting on the ground next to the elder Forsakenness, reserved comment. Quietly she set a hand on Phasilica's shoulder with a sympathetic squeeze.

"Vaschel!" Phasilica repeated, previously restrained frustrations stitching a mixture of emotions into her voice. "Damnit—you owe me one!"

The paladin stopped short, turning again with equal frustration. "But this is a _death knight_! And this is my city!" he insisted, but a quick glance over his shoulder revealed he'd already lost sight of her. "Oh hell!"

Negate bent, offering his arms to help both women stand. "She just… wanted your hair? All that for…? Honestly? Of course I am relieved, but…"

"Who knows," Phasilica sighed, reaching behind her head to trace her cold fingers softly over a small bald spot, frown deepening. Part of her wanted to set up some mirrors so that she could examine the damage—another part wanted to pretend it didn't exist. Woefully she trailed her fingers up higher, unfastening the clip that barely held the rest of her ebony locks in an uptight bun, letting them loose, in miserable hopes that they would cover it for now.

"You poor thing!" Lisys whimpered pathetically, this last tragedy sending her sailing right off the edge. She threw her arms around Phasilica's torso, squeezing her tightly. "Please don't be sad! I've got lots of hair, and it's the same color—you can have some of mine, okay?"

Phasilica's face became alight with emotion—happiness—something even Negate wasn't certain he'd ever seen _there _before, and it startled him.

"Oh, you're the sweetest thing!" she gushed, drawing away to clasp Lisys's hands in front of herself and thereby maintain some formal elegance. "Come with me to the Undercity tomorrow? I can't imagine how I will repay you!"

"I can't believe you made me let her go!" Vaschel grumbled, finally rejoining his comrades. "First night elves, then death knights. If a night elf death knight appears, fuck you, I'm killing it. And you're going to fix this shirt for me!" he added, pointing to the tear in his back.

Phasilica released Lisys's hands, her usual discontent mien returning. "I already fixed that shirt for you once, Vaschel—I'm not fixing it again."

"Wh--!? Could you see how maybe it wasn't my fault this time!?" Vaschel growled, waving his arms in the direction of blood-stained ground.

"Honestly! I was embarrassed she'd gotten a hold of _me! You _have no excuse!" she scoffed, turning her nose in the air. "If you'd quit drinking, she never would have hit you—not once!"

Vaschel tossed his hair back irately. "What the hell do you know? My job is to power through everything, not to be nimble."

Lisys took a slow step back, then another, realigning herself with Negate.

Phasilica gasped lightly, balling her fists. "Honestly! Do you think you can blatantly lie to me because I'm—oh, what's your word—_squishy_!?" she demanded, patting her chest to demonstrate the fragility of cloth armor. "I was a healer, idiot. I know how your _kind _works, and if you were any good at it, you'd dodge just fine, except that you are always _drunk!_"

"Are they always like this?" Lisys whispered, cupping her mouth as to direct the question to Negate and Negate only, not that the other two would have noticed had she screamed it.

"What do you mean _my kind?" _Vaschel hissed, though honestly more upset that she'd so easily caught his lie than the assumed insult.

Negate, who had previously entertained himself watching leaves glide gently from the surrounding trees, turned his face to Lisys. "Who like what? Oh! Those two? Mmmhm, always fighting," he nodded affirmatively, sparing the quarreling pair a quick glance. "You grew up on a farm, didn't you? It's been like introducing a new puppy to a middle-aged cat pretty much ever since he's been well enough to speak."

"I mean simpletons with thick arms and thicker heads!" Phasilica shouted, leaning forward aggressively.

Vaschel was undeterred. "Okay! Fine! Next time a death knight rolls in here, you tank, and I'll heal! Then when you die, I'm not going to bring you back because _you wouldn't fix my damn shirt!"_

"Vaschel, it's covered in blood!" she all but screamed.

"Then WASH IT FIRST!" he retorted.

"Oh…" Lisys tilted her head, small, furry animals equating to an analogy she could understand easily. It was becoming evident to her that Negate's home life was awfully… _noisy… _but the way he drifted off told her he was completely comfortable here, and she wanted so badly to feel the same.

xwx

A loud clash-bang-rumble exploded through the darkness, through Phasilica's bedroom window and down the short hallway to the sitting room, where Negatory sprang awake almost instantly. At first she thought she'd heard a storm, and she was frightened to find herself alone—but a soft murmur of voices followed, compelling the sleepy elf to ignore her fears to find the source.

Stumbling a bit and still rubbing her eyes, she felt her way down the dark hall and into her surrogate mother's bedroom, pausing at the desk to lean over the open window.

Below, Dawnn was helping Daynha dislodge herself from a trash can she'd knocked over. Dawnn looked okay, except that he was inexplicably away from previous festivities with Negate and Vaschel. Daynha, on the other hand, looked a bit haggard and disheveled.

"Something happened…" she whispered to herself miserably, suddenly not tired anymore.

"I told you that you couldn't walk on your own," Dawnn stated with irritation, pulling his mother's arm around his shoulders as he slouched way down. "Well—are you okay?"

"Ohhh, fine," Daynha answered wistfully, nose tilted toward the sky. "I was just pondering the twenty hours of hellish pain that was your birth."

Dawnn groaned. "Quit that! I said no. You made your bed, now lay in it. You get to heal the old fashion way—very slowly. If you'd just listened to me in the first place, this wouldn't be a problem."

"But I know you haven't used lay on hands yet, and it's not like you're going to need it soon!" she groaned back, limping along slowly beside him.

"I will if you don't quit acting like a child!" he growled, but assented nonetheless and a blink of an eye later he released her to walk beside him normally.

"That's a good boy!" she cooed, standing on her toes to reach up and pat his face.

"Yeah, thanks. Listen, don't run off yet, I've got a letter for you. Some kid just handed it to me while you were out," he advised, tone still carrying some irritation.

"Oh? Who's it from?"

"Cevian, actually…"

Negatory carefully pushed the window shut, thankful that—as always—there was scarcely a cloud in the sky.

*END: CHAPTER 19*

//BEGIN LETTER: LISYS TO DEATHGUARD OLIVER

Hello,

I've only spent a day… and almost an entire night in Quel'Thalas, and it has been insanity! I like it here, though. This paper is awfully fine, I know these fancy things irritate you. But it's not mine, a nice woman, undead like us, gave it to me. She's very kind but a little empty…

I know these things don't interest you. Let me get to the point.

I haven't received any reply to my first letter… I don't want to bother you, but in case you never got it—or I never got the reply—let me try again. I can't seem to remember my last name while we were married. It's an important part of my identity, honest!

Please write soon

Lisys


	21. Chapter 20

*BEGIN: CHAPTER 20*

//SET LOCATION: THE ACHERUS

Any time Jaqlyn moved her lips to speak she was careful to open her mouth a bit wider than necessary, revealing two rows of pearl-colored teeth. They were in the shape of little tombstones, square and almost completely flat on top from years of grinding under stress, a nasty habit.

A young Scarlet foot soldier, male, could not take his frightened eyes away from her face. The undead witch had requested a young man specifically this run, since she'd asked for middle aged women the past five, to be shackled to her wall securely by the time she returned from Tirisfal Glades, and she was used to getting her way. The boy's body had been covered by her terrified underlings in some black fur he did not recognize—for it is cold at such altitudes, and what good is cold meat?—all according to code.

"I don't want you to think I will go unpunished for your death," Jaqlyn spoke softly, a breathy cloud exhausting from her lips at every uttered syllable. "It's really very inconvenient—I don't seem to process my meals correctly, so that I am _always_ hungry—a curse in itself."

The youth swallowed, watching the tongue work over her teeth in the normal ways of speech, motions not unlike chewing. His mistress was lacking a set of functioning eyeteeth, and his destiny was to have his flesh crushed and ground between the enamel slowly until she could work it free, bit by bit, while he was still alive. "M- Miss," he finally managed in a pathetic, choking yelp—the sounds of a man grieving his own death.

A demanding, brutal pounding at the dead hag's chamber door stalled the proceedings. With a slick smile, Jaqlyn placed a bony finger in the air, signaling her guest to wait a moment, before striding across the room and answering the door.

As soon as the portal cracked, Abby thrust her hand inside, heaving the entry open powerfully. "I found her," she snarled, "now hold your end of the deal."

"Abby! Come in, come in," Jaqlyn gushed acid-sweet, sidestepping gracefully with welcoming gestures.

Abby grunted irately and obliged, stepping heavy and impatient into the necromancer's bedchambers. "I found her in Quel'Thalas on Angelina's advice," she growled, eager to finish her business with this woman.

The shackled soldier watched Abby enter, a snarl forming across his lips as anger replaced fear. "You! Traitor! Bitch!" he howled, struggling against his shackles. "What happened to her ribbon, wench? Did it find your conscience!?"

Jaqlyn, always more interested in trivial gossip before serious business, appeared delighted. "Abby! My meal likes you," she giggled elegantly. "Tell me, sweet food, and I may let you go—what is your history with this woman?"

"That unsightly whore led a prison revolt that spilled out into my village. She cut my infant sister's head for a ribbon around her neck!" he growled hatefully. An entire life spent begging for an opportunity to meet this woman again had finally seen its purpose—unfortunately, it did not appear to include revenge.

Jaqlyn was giddy—Avarett had told her this story before his untimely murder, and she hadn't believed it then. "Was it red? That's Abby's favorite color, you know! Oh, Abby is her name. Lucky boy, it must be a comfort for you to know that before you die."

Abby stamped her foot impatiently. Abby wasn't really her name, and she slaughtered the child for its stepfather, furious with his wife's cheating heart—not the ribbon—although it was red, her favorite color. "I gave it to someone else," she answered shortly, doing her best to make the whole ordeal seem as uninteresting as possible.

"Mm, you're not interested in teasing him," Jaqlyn frowned, toying with the ends of ebony that had worked their way from her bun. "I suppose, then, you ought to remove yourself from my presence before you really piss me off. I've set you at a task; I expect it completed," she dictated with a sudden chilly sneer.

Abby returned the unpleasantries. "I just said, _you can find her in Silvermoon City_."

"You're a liar. Last warning," Jaqlyn hissed, pointing toward the door.

Wordlessly Abby reached into her bag, producing a bundle of human hair which she tossed to the hag, who inspected it closely, then smiled. "Ahh… so my darling made it after all."

"If you want me to go get her, you're out of luck—she's got friends in high places. Nadia?" Abby glanced wearily toward the door.

"Yes, yes, Nadia. Try Silverpine Forest," Jaqlyn smirked, eyeing the clump of hair in her hand with a satisfied smile, not bothering to watch Abby leave.

The knight shut the door rather heavily behind her, brows knitted hard together. Jaqlyn previously resided in Scholomance, but shoved her way into The Acherus to place herself closer to those knights she had, or wished to obtain, a particular power over—Abby included. Completely unaccustomed to slavery, the ordeal was beginning to wear on her nerves. Her anger built with every step as she turned the situation over in her mind. Another death knight was walking in the opposite direction, but Abby did not shift aside, taking for granted the smaller female heading right for her would move instead.

As it happened, the other female was Saiynt, and was thinking the same thing. The undeads slammed right into one another and with a chorus of angry snarls pushed back against each other with equal force so that both women fell back into the opposite walls.

Abby caught herself against the stone with a sneer, identifying the other woman as her hood fell back. "Watch it, Saiynt!" she growled hatefully, righting her stance. "Dumb tart…"

The feeling was mutual. "Check yaself, bitch! You own't wanna piss me awf."

Abby shot her rival a nasty glare and prepared to swing before remembering that Nadia was waiting, and she didn't have time for a petty fist fight.

"Whass'a'matter, Uda? Did it just a'curr to ya I'd kick your ass?" Saiynt snarled, dwarfed by Abby even on her toes.

Abby scoffed but turned away. "Cute," she grumbled sarcastically as she stalked off.

"Bitch," Saiynt repeated as she continued toward a conference with Arthas, completely unaware that the entire exchange had easily permeated Jaqlyn's bedroom door.

//SET LOCATION: STORMWIND CITY

_Howls and screams erupted from a tiny house just outside of Stratholme so shrill and desperate that it was a wonder they never pierced the city itself. A quiet woman with an unsmiling face sat near the hearth, completely absorbed in the fire in hopes that its roar could drown the slams and crashes in the attic._

"_Momma?" six-year old Jibreel questioned innocently, tugging her apron. _

"_Dinner's almost ready, sweetheart," the woman answered robotically._

"_I know," Jibreel returned sheepishly then continued on with her real question, "Why are we so mean to him?"_

"_We're not mean, baby—we just have to keep your brother skinny." _

"_But other boys make fun of him for being so skinny."_

_The mother stirred the fire with a hot poker, smiling as if she hadn't heard the comment. "Go set the table for momma, sweetheart."_

"Jibreel, you're dozing a bit," Ex frowned, shaking the curvaceous paladin gently.

She lifted her head off of Ex's shoulder. She was a bit startled to find herself resting on a park bench—she didn't even remember sitting down. "Sorry. I didn't sleep well last night, I…"

"You don't need to excuse yourself. You're more than welcome to fall asleep, but we should get to an inn first," he offered, wrapping an arm around her shoulders to rub her back. "Are you feeling okay?"

"Mmhm. I think I was starting to have a dream," she answered, ignoring all physical contact.

Ex nodded his head with sympathy, trying to think of something comforting to say to an orphan with no past. Instead, he was distracted by the presence of a gruff-looking warrior across the way. "Ugh! It's my cousin," he grumbled, but regretted it immediately after.

"Huh? Your--?" Jibreel scanned the area herself hazily, before her own eyes fell on the warrior. "Oh, Light, it's Leland!" she squealed, her eyes widening and lighting to burn with twice the intensity of the sun. Before Ex could utter a plea to reconsider, she jumped to her feet and rocket across the busy stone path to nearly collide with the man himself. "Leland! Leland!"

Leland did not so much as flinch, but stood just as he had before, even as the woman stopped fractions of an inch from his side. "Oh, it's you two," he muttered uninterestedly, face skyward.

"Leland!" Jibreel repeated, jumping once with a broad smile. "Wanna join the Scarlet Crusade!?"

He laughed humorlessly, never removing his eyes from the green foliage above. "No."

"Oh hell, why did I even open my mouth?" Ex grumbled, joining Jibreel in his own time.

"Awwh! But don't you care about the fate of your homeland?" Jibreel questioned, then knitted her brows together. "What are you staring at?"

"Angel ran off and climbed up this tree in a fit of bratty rage," Leland answered simply, drawing a flask out of his jacket. "I don't know if she's stuck or just ignoring me."

Ex lifted his eyebrows. "Angel?"

On cue a tiny half-elfin head popped up from between branches, her small, pudgy face distorted with anger. "I'm not coming down until you give me answers, mister!" she shouted.

"Oh! A mutt," Jibreel gasped, surprised. "Leland… you're not this girl's father, are you?"

"Light, Leland. What did you do now?" Ex grumbled.

"Yeah! Are you my dad?" the tiny girl demanded.

Leland took a swig, covering a heavy sigh. "Oh hell, why does everyone jump there? No, kiddo, I ain't your fuckin' dad. I'm just watchin' you until I can find somewhere else to put you."

"Who would trust you with their child?" Ex asked, clearly concerned.

A vein pulsed softly above Leland's left eyebrow. "Can you not see that I'm a little lightdamn busy right now!?"

"I'll get her down!" Jibreel offered spritely. She set her shield against the base of the tree and grasped the lowest branch, lifting her feet to test its strength before hoisting herself atop. Once secure, she repeated the process.

Leland paused mid-drink to crane his neck. "Damn, she's got the ass and the tits, ain't she?"

"Ugh. You're such a prickhole," Ex sighed. "But I can lecture you later. I've got a couple serious questions for you while you're around, so pay attention," the mage demanded, snatching the warrior's flask—a surefire way to hold his attention at least temporarily. "How old are you?"

"Are you leading me into some joke about immaturity?" Leland snarled, foiling Ex's plot by producing an identical flask from his boot.

Angel's wide, doe-like eyes expanded even more so as Jibreel settled right beside her within the tree. "Woooow… this branch is stroooong."

"Gee, thanks," Jibreel frowned, but shook the comment off quickly. "Angel, is it? Wanna tell me how you ended up with Leland?"

Ex rolled his eyes. "No, nothing that petty. Just answer the question."

"Thirty-one," Leland returned gruffly.

"Then you're old enough to remember…" Ex rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Jibreel's been wondering where she came from lately. Do you know anything?"

"She's not related to you." Leland polished off the flask, then ripped the other away from Ex.

"Well, that's comforting, but not what I was looking for."

Angel crossed her arms, pouting. "That's why I'm up here! He just took me from this orphanage, where this really nice lady was fussing over me, and I really liked it there, and I was doin' just fine, but then he showed up, and he just threw me at a bed in an inn and said _go to sleep_ and wouldn't tell me anything, and I'm not coming down until he tells me who he is and why he stole me from my friends!"

Jibreel scratched the back of her neck, taking a moment to digest the long rant. "Oh, okay, uhh… Well, you're awful hard to talk to up here, don't you think? Tell you what, I'm not really sure myself what he's doing with you… but what if I tell you what I know about him? Will you come down then? And we can demand answers together. I'm an orphan too, you know."

Angel appeared skeptical, but the woman made a logical point, so she nodded.

"Okay, where to start? Humm… Well, when I was little I was passed around a few times, but eventually I ended up with a man named Avarett Crysys, who's kind of one of my heroes," she blushed, scratching the back of her head sheepishly. "Leland is actually my mentor's grandson—and he looks just like him, except always angry. He's also Ex's second cousin or something… ah, Ex is my friend, the blonde down there, see? The point is, I used to see him all the time," as she spoke, her voice became more level, more serious, more like herself, "actually, if it weren't for Leland and his brother, I'd probably be roaming around Lordaeron as a zombie right now… Leland's a good person, and I think he'll take good care of you if you let him."

"He said I was ugly and calls me 'mutt,'" Angel returned, frowning.

Leland replaced the flask in his jacket, pausing for a thoughtful moment before speaking. "...She came out of a lot of scandal. There's really no reason for her to remember it."

"Hey, that's not fair," Ex frowned. "If you know something, she wouldn't want you to protect her from it. Besides, how awful can her blood family be?"

"I didn't say they were awful… but it ain't none'a my damn business anyway." Leland grunted.

Jibreel hopped out of the tree, holding the small half-elf in her arms. "Leland, you owe this girl an explanation, don't you think?"

//SET LOCATION: BOOTY BAY

Chord Voidbreaker held her short sundress down with one hand and held her sunhat with the other, protecting her modesty and her complexion from the cool sea breeze and contrasting warm sun. She'd only visited this town once before and fell in love with it then, with its cultural mixings and clear waters and goblins with their funny mannerisms. Sadly, her entire experience was dampened heavily by a bout of sickness that had seized her unexpectedly, but it remained vivid enough that she did not want to leave. Trying to appear as well as possible she swung her sandaled feet gently and carefully maintained a bubbly aura, even as her husband's back was to her while he conversed with a human boy.

"_No, I haven't seen anyone like that… I wish I could be more helpful," _the boy answered, in a language Chord didn't recognize but assumed was Common.

"_Not at all. I appreciate your time." _Cevian answered politely. _"Now go practice, or you'll forget how."_

The boy chuckled and took a polite bow, "Thank you, instructor!" Then he turned away with a wave.

Cevian returned the gesture politely as he returned to perch beside his wife. "Sorry, sweetheart, he hasn't seen her either. Sending messages across factions is difficult, and it wouldn't surprise me if we don't see her at all today."

"I'm not worried about it, I like it here," she answered lazily with a soft wave of her hand. "Honey, why is it that any time we run into someone you used to know, they call you _instructor _or something like that?" She asked with a soft tilt of her head.

Cevian watched Chord for several moments, doubting the seriousness of the question, before answering almost cautiously. "That's because I was a teacher, dear—you knew that."

The tiny woman's eyes light up with realization. "Ohhh! That makes sense, heehee! I never really put that together before," she giggled, covering her mouth daintily.

Cevian laughed, too; her bright disposition never failed to make him smile. "Oh, honey," he chuckled, patting her head gently, "it's such a virtue that you're cute, isn't it?"

She nodded her head in agreement, though she knew not what to, and this small gesture alone was nearly enough to throw her tiny frame off a precarious balance atop the wooden box. There was a burning in her ears since they left Stormwind so strong that she didn't even notice she was about to fall until her husband seized her shoulders quite suddenly and righted her position.

"Chord, are you all right?" His voice took a serious note and he kept his hands on her as if he expected a repeat performance as he pressed a kiss to her forehead.

The contact closed Chord's eyes briefly. She didn't like to stretch the truth, but she didn't like to worry him either. The latter anxiety won quickly, and she carefully shook her head. "No, I'm just a bit sleepy. Oh! Oh look! There she is!"

Cevian lifted his head to watch a small, spritely redheaded blood elf walk casually down the gangplank of The Maiden's Fancy, the ferry between Ratchet and Booty Bay. Daynha had spotted them first and wore an ear-to-ear smile as she approached the pair just off the dock.

"Daynha!" Chord jumped up so quickly she nearly threw herself off balance.

"Yes, yes, it's so good to see you again!" Daynha wrapped her arms around the other woman in a tight but brief hug. "You look cute as always."

Chord flushed lightly with a broad smile. "Aw shucks! I bought something for you earlier… humn, where'd it go?" She turned her head to the right and to the left, searching the wooden dock.

"You left it at the inn," Cevian advised, gesturing up the dock. "Do you remember the room?"

"I do! I'll be right back, okay?" Chord beamed at Daynha as she turned to rush up the dock.

"Careful! Don't get lost!" Cevian cautioned, watching his tiny wife trot away.

Daynha snickered and leaned forward, speaking barely above a whisper, "Run along, little Chord! The adults are talking now," she mocked with a good-natured smile.

Cevian turned and flashed his eyes at the holy warrior, though he was not really angry. It was in the woman's playful nature to tease, and she brought a valid point. "Honestly, now, she's older than you are."

"Barely!" Daynha cackled, her devilish smile only spreading. "She's—what—six years older than your son? You could have adopted her!"

Cevian's irritated expression broke for one of realization. "Ahhh, now that sounds kinky. Do you think I still could?"

Daynha erupted into giggles, steadying herself with a hand on his shoulder. "You're a dirty old man, Cevian… but I take it you didn't really call me here to chat?"

"My wife has missed you sorely," Cevian answered, lifting his eyebrows at Daynha, but he could tell by her expression she wasn't buying it. Always the businessman, he did indeed have an ulterior motive."…But if you could run an errand for me, I would be in your debt."

She exhaled her last giggles, shaking away the humor and trading it for a sudden rush of seriousness. "You're kidding, right?" she asked, taking a step to look directly up into his face. "_I _am forever in _your _debt! Light, if it weren't for you, I'd have been forced to give up my son… And I mean that!"

Cevian scoffed, even though he knew she was probably right. "Don't be ridiculous. Anyhow, it's a small favor. That man you… _associate _with… Ugh, his name escapes me. The brute, always drunk."

"You mean Vaschel," Daynha shook her head with a smile.

"It sounds familiar," he concurred, reaching into his robes to withdraw a folded letter. "I need you to give this to him."

Almost cautiously she took the parchment into her hands, carefully unfolding it with a suspicious glance. "That's all? You wanted to meet me just for--?" once fully exposed, she found that the paper contained writing, but a language which she could not read. "I don't understand. Vaschel can barely read Thalasian; I really doubt he'll know what this is."

"That's all right, I'm certain he can locate himself a translator," Cevian answered nonchalantly.

"I hope this isn't a threat or something," Dayhna hissed suspiciously, but the man's expression did not waver, so she continued, "But I'll make sure he gets it… under one condition."

"What happened to _forever in my debt?"_

"Just hear me out," she took a deep breath, brushing her hair out of her face. "I want you to… to at least _consider _coming home." She paused, watching Cevian's expression fall, before continuing in a bit of a rush. "Listen! Listen, I know that you're tough, and that that the withdrawals don't make any difference to you, and you do make very valid points about the destructive forces of magic. But let's be honest with ourselves here! You moved Chord to Stormwind City because those lanky purple bastards keep a moonwell there," she accused albeit sympathetically. "She doesn't look well. If she suffers any time you move away from it for a few days… you're going to kill her with your stubbornness."

"I appreciate your concern," he lied stiffly, "and will take it into consideration."

//SET LOCATION: THE ACHERUS

"I said I _might _let you live—not live comfortably," Jaqlyn smiled, blood and thin strips of skin and muscle squeezing between her teeth and she spread her lips back. The white enamel began to stain with the warmth of his thick fluid, a permanent taint to show the world her true nature until she replaced the whole set with another from her victims.

Every time the young soldier thought he had cried away the last drop of liquid within his body, the ungodly hag took another slow bite from his left shin, crushing her teeth together over a small chunk of flesh until she could work it loose, and another wracking sob shook his shoulders.

"Kill me," he pleaded in a tiny whisper, before erupting, "killmekillmekillmekillme!" over and over until his voice could offer no more words and he fell into wails once more.

A heavy, impatient rapping to her chamber door and she released her hold on the soldier's leg, choking down the dark blood that had already pooled in her mouth. "Who is it?" she demanded impatiently. No one answered, but this lack of response was just as good as a name. She sprang from her crouch near the soldier's legs and hurried to the door, wiping her mouth on her sleeve so that only a red smear remained. "Mister Xanthic!" she smirked, pulling her door open quickly. She scarcely heard the defeated hysterics of the man behind her as it became clear his suffering would be extended. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"I need you to fix something," he answered plainly. He caught the crimson smear across her lips and chin and looked away from her face in disgust. He wasn't unaccustomed to hedonism—far from it—but had often wondered in the past if Jaqlyn's self-indulgent foolishness knew any limit. Nevertheless, she'd mended him in life and was likely better at it now.

"What sort of something?" she asked, fingers twitching with a barely-restrained desire to touch the man.

He gave his head a hard tilt one way and then the other, playing for her the audible grinding crunch that had antagonized him all afternoon. The noise made her smile.

"Ahh, I believe I know the problem—but before I send you out for materials, let me have a look?" she asked breathily, sliding her tiny fingers around his wrist to draw him into her bedroom.

*END: CHAPTER 20*

_-last update 3-23-10_

^BEGIN: DISCUSSION^

**-Escalus **as a matter of fact, I would lovejust as much if you weren't all a bunch of sick fucks!... Not. You're probably right. I think night elves are stupid looking xD Vaschel is also not a big fan of them… as you can see. Most of my BE's are not fond of them, although a few don't really care, like Negate and Cevian and Fae, but they do carry an 'I'm better than you' attitude. But that's with any other race x) I am quite fond of Vaschel, I won't lie. I think Negate is still my favorite, but Vaschel's close xD

**-Tea **oooi! Reply to my messages already giiiiiirl. ;) All of you seem to really like that nelf comment xD That whole argument was one of my favorite so far. Although that part was kinda the focal point. OH HEY. Now you know what the hair was for :3 That was quick, wasn't it? See? Ask and ye shall receive. If only I gave other answers that fast, amirite?

Nooote to self. Get on the hawthawt love scenes.

My BF can't stand Daynha. He reaaaally hates her.

I GET IT! And yes. Yes, I know for a fact that at least 40 people played WoW when you did, because you've been to raids! :P Just kidding. My BF played it back when 40 man raids were big. He was a holy priest on a PvP server XP

Gnomes caaan be kiiinda cute as long as they don't /silly or anything. Their voices are sooo annoying. And they say the stupidest shit. Like not even funny, just dumb. Puuuunt. Gnome priests are cute (why don't you play one of those? _shift,,_) warlocks and mages… fine. Rogues is getting more annoying and gnome warriors are like the bane of my existence. Thank gawd I don't run into many.

Not to self! Avoid Tea's server =)

How do you pronounce Tearle anyway? I just call you 'Tea,' like, you can drink it.

**-Ren **THAT WAS FAST. So was this one! I'm on a friggin roooooll. I was actually starting to wonder what happened to you. No worries though, you gotta have time to actually play the game.

Vaschel is a REALLY girly name xD It kind of reminds me of like, Velvet. It's also the name of an indy brand of purses and heels xD Gaaaay.

I know xD I'm a genius. I wonder if it shouldn't be humor-romance. Or humor-drama. I don't wanna drop drama out of the title though, because of parts where… okay, like that flashback where Lisys was still alive, laying naked and three fourths dead in a forest. That's dramatic. :3 But I think humor-drama will make people scratch their heads. xD

**-Darkmedow **NOW YOU KNOW! Ahhh the NE comment's fame is thrided. You went from an NE huntard to a NE death kn00b then back to an NE huntard? XD maaan. You're like the punching bag of the internet, ain'tcha?

**-Nub **Abby is new to her existence as a death knight. Kind of like when Dawnn had to pretty much start completely over as a paladin since he used to be a priest, but not as extreme. Hahaha, you thought I was gonna try to throw HP in here? You crazy!

Thank you xD The middle aged cat and the new puppy is srsly the best way to describe Vaschel and Phasilica like 90% of the time.

No, you shouldn't piss off the healer xD Vaschel does this semifrequently. There's another group that's notorious for it but that'll come up later.

**-Everyone **I'm predicting a long wait on this next chapter. I could be wrong, so check back often. I think it'll be mid-January (I'll be moved into a new apartment by then, jeeeze time flies) and so MERRY CHRISTMAS WINTERVEIL CHANNUKAH WHATEVER. I know I said that last chapter but that was a just in case. This one's for reaaaal.

Basically, I think I'm going to overhaul all the chapters previous again. I haven't since April, can you believe that? I don't intend to change anything major or even content related, so there's really no reason to go back unless you need a refresher :3 I'll also be removing old author's notes, where the review I replied to got pushed off anyway. Jeeze, right now I'm at 88, can you believe it? I mean half of them are from Tea, ( :P) but when I started this I never thought… anyway, during this time I might pick up a side project or two and brainstorm with Tea if she's not busy.

Which reminds me! Tea's wrapped up now, so if you catch a mistake in this chapter… that's why. Tis the season, y'know, so she hasn't edited this one at all.

OH HEY! You know, I was looking around this site (I'm actually like really new to , srsly this is my first ever fanfiction and I didn't read them before) and it turns out you can track your story stats! I'll be damned!

**--PAY ATTENTION NOW BECAUSE THIS IS IMPORTANT—**I learned that, since March of '09, I've had over ten thousand hits to this story! Ooomg! Now hits don't mean much, and I know that you're probably thinking "ten thousand? Big deal, I had that many ages ago on my story" but it was really tough for me so SHUDDUHFUCKUP. I'm on the fav's list of 30 of you and 16 have me on author alert, whatever the hell that is. Some of these names overlap on both lists, but I also like to think that some of you are like Kyn and just have me in their browser favorites ;3 That any a you weirdos even wanna read this is just so excititing. I'mma fall over.

I had my BF craft this present for you. :3

[ http://thecrawlspace(DOT)com/wp-content/uploads/2009/12/thankyouforreading(DOT)jpg ]

Copy it to the URL bar and replace the (DOT)s with a period.

((PSSST. Guess who's in that picture? Yeaaaaah. It's closer than you think.))

^PEACE^


	22. Chapter 21

^FYI^

Ahem it's been a while… ereuh I'm back now! Sorta. It occurred to me that I was so sick of this story so while my editor was busy I sorta took a break… x) but the beta is back! So I intend to continue, probably just slower than before. Anyway,I'm not dead, don't fret, and enjoy the storiee.

^END FYI^

*BEGIN: CHAPTER 21*

// SET LOCATION: CITY OF LORDAERON, FOUR DECADES AGO

Hours after 'burning the midnight oil,' a youthful paladin sat hunched over an impressive journal—not his, for he saw no use for archiving his own life—but that of warriors before him, so that he might learn from their wisdom. He took his studies in the privacy of his own home, a vast manor suited only to nobility, the place of his birth and his father's birth, and so on. All was dark and quiet and grave within the wide, aging halls of the rich building.

His dedication was ample in supply, but unfortunately his literary skills were lacking, and he felt that he may never absorb all the information the book had to offer him. The man was only a third finished when a small thud from across the hall alerted him to activity and with grace he decided to investigate, desperately in need of a respite.

Quiet and careful not to alert the intruder, should there be one, he crept in the direction of the sound, which was succeeded by a similar disturbance, until he found himself at the top of a large, winding staircase. The young man cautiously leaned over the rail and smiled lightly.

On the very last stair, a small girl of six at the most, lay half upside-down, rubbing her head. Her black hair, once rigorously groomed and tied back according to her mother's strict standards, had half-come loose from its bindings and draped all about her face, and she was still in the process of straightening her expensive nightgown.

Another child, identical in every way albeit still clean-pressed, approached the paladin's field of vision from the left. A pair of thick, silver-rimmed spectacles adorned her face, and in her hands she carried a similar pair.

"Are you okaaaaay?" she whispered, handing the extra pair of glasses to her sister.

Scarcely able to contain himself any longer, the young man took a short step back and then forward again, bounding right over the railing and sailing down to the ground floor. He landed behind the girls with a thud loud enough to excite a scream from both.

"Ooooi! What did I tell you two about playing on the stairs?" he asked with a knowing smirk, arms crossed.

"Ummm…" the children stood upright, looking for any way to stall. They stared at the floor, straightened their nightgowns, and fixed one another's glasses for several agonizing seconds before finally mumbling, "mmm, don't?"

"That's right!" he agreed, appearing delighted rather than angry as he dropped to his knees to assume their level. "Now do you see why? It hurts to take a big fall like that, doesn't it, _Phasilica_?"

The tousled girl's guilty expression broke. "Avarreeeeett!" she wailed, voice carrying the hurt of a neglected infant's cry. "I'm Angelina! _That's _Phasilica!" she bawled, pointing sharply at her sister before burying her face in her hands.

Avarett feigned surprise. "Whaaaat? Well that's straaange," he eyed the crying child for a moment before seizing her by her ankles and, quickly but safely, uprooting her to examine the bottom of her feet. "Well I don't see it written anywhere…"

"Eeek! Eeek!" Angelina paused her crying to hold her nightgown with one hand and wave the other frantically.

Phasilica, still safe on the ground, covered a discrete giggle. "But she's telling the truth, Avarett! Really!"

Avarett's broad grin never faded as he placed the squirming child on the floor carefully. "Let me make you a deal. I'll call you by your given names if you'll quit calling me by mine, okay? _Dad_ works juuust fine."

Confusion swept Phasilica's face while Angelina was still steadying herself. "But Jaqlyn said—"

As if on cue, a quiet creak in the floor interrupted the protest and compelled Avarett and his daughters to peek around the corner to the entry way.

"Uh? Dear?" Avarett questioned into the dark, surprised and not at the same time to see that his wife was dressed and pulling on her coat. "Where are you going?"

Jaqlyn Crysis, always looking the best her husband's money could buy, was slow to turn around. She'd pinned her hair tightly, applied all the typical makeup, and looked every bit as if she were heading out for an afternoon stroll as opposed to a midnight run.

"Out," she answered shortly, a frown darkening her features, accented by naturally raven hair. Jaqlyn's brown eyes settled over her daughters' faces and intense, concentrated anger compressed inside of her until her body could no longer contain its pressure and it oozed out with every syllable she spoke. "_They're supposed to be in bed," _she snarled, stiffly gesturing to the twins.

Even a few months ago, her threat-like manner of every day speech made him flinch. But finally, after five years of a never-ending bad mood that reared its ugly head immediately after their honeymoon, Avarett merely lifted his eyebrows. "Okay, sweetie… I'll put them back; it's not a big deal. But do you have to—" thinking better of it, he cut himself off and bent to gather his daughters, instead saying, "be careful and hurry back, please? It's late."

"Call a servant to fix Angelina's hair _first," _she insisted condescendingly, as if this should have occurred to the paladin already. Then without another word she stepped out and slammed the door—the brief conversation she'd been forced to endure was already too much.

"I never thought I'd have to actually live with that son of a bitch," she snarled to herself with waning irritation as soon as the door was closed. "At least it's a big house, but… where's a damn war when I need one?" she grumbled, though admittedly trading Jaqlyn Evans, daughter of a whorehouse madam, for Mrs. Avarett Crysis, wife of a wealthy paladin and local hero, came with plenty of perks to outweigh the drawbacks. For instance, she could wander about at any time of the evening without arousing the suspicion of the neighbors _because how could the wife of an esteemed do-good be up to _no_ good?_

Once outside the City of Lordaeron, her journey consumed an hour and a half—and in such chill weather, a mere sampling of her determination—all the way to an old, burnt farmhouse. She knocked on the door carefully, just in case a firm rap would reduce the entire home to ash.

At first there was no answer. Jaqlyn was never used to being ignored, and knocked incessantly, growing in strength, until the door was answered quite explosively, literally breaking free of the bottom hinge to hang awkwardly. In its place stood an unnaturally tall, muscular high elf, clad almost entirely in ebony so that stark-silver hair, blemished with a single, curious streak of blue strands toward the left front, stood out like the moon against a black sky. He spoke rough Common, luckily for Jaqlyn who spoke no Thalassian, and somehow his accent made him seem even less amused with her presence.

"Oh. Jaqlyn," he grunted.

Irritation immediately registered. "Ariel. Invite. Me._ In_," she snarled.

Ariel briefly considered the wailing banshee right outside his temporary home that would surely result if he were to shut the door in this woman's face. Without another word, he moved aside.

With an air of superiority she conquered the thresh hold, briefly observing a small, red-headed elf sitting on the floor of the filthy living room, drawing pictures in the dirt with her finger. She lifted her head with a welcoming smile and, if it weren't that she spoke perfect Common signaling she was born in privilege, Jaqlyn would have found her completely uninteresting.

"Oh, hello, guest! I'm drawing my oldest, her name is—" however, she had a grating voice that made Jaqlyn almost grateful when Ariel put his foot to the side of her head, cutting her off in a flurry of whimpers.

"I've got work," Jaqlyn informed without further hesitation.

Ariel frowned. "If I can't take care of it in the next forty-eight hours, I am not interested. I'm skipping town—you'd know that if you were at all clever, witch."

Jaqlyn did not take the remark negatively; in fact, she smiled lightly. "I want you to kill my husband."

"No," Ariel answered shortly, never considering for a second that she wasn't serious.

This was not the answer Jaqlyn was hoping for. Immediately she pursed her lips, soft creaks sounding as she curled and uncurled her fingers. "Need I remind you, _Ariel, _that in a moment's notice I can ship you right into the hands of those who find you _most _disgusting?"

Ariel set an enormous hand on her shoulder, pushing her to the door. "Threaten all you want, Jaqlyn—the result is the same," he tossed her at the entry way, atop a rug that read, ironically, 'welcome', that she hadn't noticed before. "I can accept or decline, I die either way."

The brief reminder of his physical prowess over hers shook the lithe woman briefly. She regained her feet quickly however, dusting herself with her usual frown. "So what you are saying is… that you would be stupid enough to refuse _me?_" she hissed.

"What I am saying is, I am _not _stupid enough to challenge a strong paladin in the prime of his life," He returned with disgust which quickly changed to his own air of superiority. "Let me share a secret with you, Jaqlyn… I hate women, the whole lot of you _filthy, stupid_ whores… but you, Jaqlyn, are on a whole separate level, and I _despise _you, and every second I spend with you, with a heart-shattering ferocity I feel for no one else. It is your marriage to Avarett and only that which has made you untouchable—the only reason I have not rubbed your face into the stone until only a smear remained of your head. Go home and try to be grateful," he spat just before shoving her through the door.

Dazed, she picked herself off the ground and began to limp away before he changed his mind. It wasn't until she was within sight of Lordaeron that Jaqlyn was even able to process what had occurred, and it all condensed into a stone of woe at the bottom of her heart. Tears welled in her eyes until she could no longer stop them.

What was she to do? Divorce was only possible if she were willing to lose everything. She wasn't. She could simply claim unhappiness and leave with half his fortune, and he probably wouldn't even bother to look for her—too heartbroken by her departure… but her daughters. There was no conceivable way she could run away with Phasilica and Angelina—he would pursue her to the ends of Azeroth. Utterly trapped, she held her face in her hands just outside the city walls and sobbed until a nearing light source snapped her away from her misery.

"Huh?" she sniffled, rubbing her reddening eyes free of the last tears.

Her husband stood in front of her, lantern in his right hand, coat lazily draped over his shoulders. "Jaqlyn! Damnit, I've been looking all over—what happened?" he asked, voice softening considerably as he removed the jacket to tie around her shoulders instead. "You're filthy… why are you crying?"

She threw herself into his chest, curling her fingers in his shirt as she wet it with her tears. "Oh, Avarett, _nothing _is going the way I want!" she explained miserably.

"Well that's nothing to cry about," Avarett offered sympathetically, running his fingers through her fine, black hair. Guiltily, he was almost excited; this was the first emotion he'd seen in her besides irritation for years. "Everything always turns out in the end, doesn't it?"

Jaqlyn exhaled quietly, her crying ceasing as she concocted a new plan. She'd just have to convince the dumb bastard to run off of his own volition.

// SET LOCATION: SILVERMOON CITY, PRESENT

Despite the beautiful morning sun gleaming over his angelic pallor, Dawnn Highnoon dragged his boots grudgingly over the white stone, exhaustion and misery glazing over every thought. The problem was simple: he was too agreeable. He promised he'd run errands early in the morning for his mother weeks ago, an irritant before he let Vaschel talk him into drinking the night away and only compounded when the very woman had nearly off'ed herself, death by Forsaken priestess, the very same night. Furthermore, this was not an isolated incident.

Instead of venturing immediately into his home, he sat in front of the doorway first, taking a brief moment to watch the sun and unwind. It was a mistake. Less than thirty seconds into his attempt to relax, the last person he wanted to see wormed her way out of the woodwork.

"Dawnn!" Daynha beamed, popping her tiny head into his field of vision in, literally, the blink of an eye. How he'd miss the heavy clank of chain against plate, as she was dressed for an outing, he attributed to his fatigue. "Didn't you get to sleep last night? You look awful."

Dawnn groaned, rubbing the side of his face. "Honestly?"

"Well, it's your life," Daynha paused mid-sentence to frown dramatically, "but I wish you'd spend it wisely. Anyway, I've got a favor to ask! It's very simple; I just want you to hand something to Vaschel for me." Her face brightened again.

"Let's see it," he sighed, holding his hand out.

"Great!" She reached into her bag, immediately producing an envelope that she thrust into his palm.

He glanced quickly at the name through the side of his eyes, beginning to ask, "What kind of ass would write with such obnoxious, loopy--," before he answered his own question. "Oh, this is that letter from Cevian. This is for Vaschel? Why would he write a letter to Vaschel? I didn't think those two… had anything in common, to say the least."

"That's what I said, but he wouldn't tell me." Daynha puffed her cheeks out in a pseudo-pout. "And it's in Common… But hey, you can read it! Oooh, open it and tell me what it says!" she ordered, squirming with delight.

Dawnn shot her a sidelong glare. "I'm not going to read Vaschel's mail. Why don't you give this to him yourself?"

"Well, actually, I'm getting ready to head out, as you can see, and I just don't think I'll have time—"

"Mother."

"I think he's mad at me," she answered quickly and truthfully this time around.

"Mmhm." Dawn nodded knowingly. "We both told you to leave that woman alone."

"And I learned my lesson!" Daynha lifted three fingers, swearing on her honor like a young ranger-scout.

Dawnn tapped the corner of the letter on the stairs beside him contemplatively. "If you really want me to, I'll deliver this for you. But you have to apologize sooner or later, and putting it off will seem awfully tacky," he warned sternly after only a moment's hesitation.

She sank onto the steps beside him with a heavy exhale. Sitting, the difference between them was even more phenomenal—Dawnn absolutely towered his mother so much that, combined with his thick, blonde hair, many were slow to believe the two were related at all. Woefully, Daynha still carried the stretch marks on her belly to prove otherwise.

"You're right. I should just handle this myself." She took the letter from him once more, replacing it in her bag without looking at it, face reflecting all the doom of her situation. But again, she brightened quickly. "Where would I be without you to tell me what's what, hm?"

"You'd be in a lot of trouble with more than just him," Dawnn scoffed.

Negatory's sprightly head popped up over the porch rail with a curious expression, ponytail bouncing. "Who's in trouble with what?"

"Well, thanks, sweetie, I'll see you later!" Daynha kissed her son's face very suddenly and hopped off the porch and away before either of them could protest.

Negatory tried anyway. "But--! Ohhh, no one ever tells me anything…"

"Don't worry about it. We were just talking about some letter, it's really not important," Dawnn briefly considered inviting her in, but he hadn't yet fixed his table as of the last incident. He would just have to suck it up and wait to sleep until she left.

"About the letter she got from Cevian?" The rogue gripped the rail and hopped over to sit beside the young paladin. "Sorry, I overheard you outside my window last night."

"Oh, yeah. Exactly. I'd let you see it, but she already took off with it—and you wouldn't be able to read it, anyway."

"Do you remember much about him…?" Negatory asked a bit nervously, staring at her boots as she wiggled her toes within them.

Dawn shook his head, his ponytail brushing hers twice. "Sorry. I was still pretty young when Cevian remarried—and that was the beginning of his undoing with Negate. After they couldn't get along anymore, he didn't really come around here much. I remember he was nice—well, polite—enough, but kind of aloof… That's really all. You know, if you want to know more, I'm sure my mother would be happy to answer any questions you have. She knows him pretty well."

_But I want to talk to you…_ Negatory thought, cautiously laying her head on his arm without looking up at him. When he did not protest, she scooted closer and leaned against him, a smile breaking out over her face. "Maybe I will. Don't you ever get curious about your father?"

Dawnn stared quietly at the stone stairs before him, then turned to look down at the tiny elf, now much closer than she was before. "Sorry, what did you say?"

"Nothing, never mind…" she looked down at her boots again. If memory served, he had avoided that very same question in the past, and she didn't want to chase him away. "My new friend went to the Undercity with Phasilica, so I'm bored."

"New friend?" He yawned.

"Oh! Yes!" She squealed, springing to her feet to pace frantically in front of him. "She's _amazing. _She is so sweet, and so polite, and she's a rogue—just like me! She's kind of shy, but _sooo_ nice! I just can't wait to introduce you to her! Only… I shouldn't, because," she paused, her shoulders sagging. "Because… you probably wouldn't like her very much."

Dawnn lifted his head, disconcerted by her tone. "Hm? Why not? Who is she, anyway?"

"She's Forsaken," Negatory answered in a huff. In her own, perfect world, everyone would at least give everyone else a chance, and she'd never have to worry about her friends hating one another.

"Huh?" He furrowed his elongated eyebrows at her sleepily.

"She's a Forsakenness." She cocked her head to the side. "You don't like them… Right?"

Dawnn stared back at her curious face a forlorn moment before snapping-to, nodding his head. "Yes, yes. I'm sorry. I'm… really tired. The Forsaken, I don't like them."

The spritely elf narrowed her eyes suspiciously at him for a moment, then sat beside him again in a huff, arms crossed. "Nobody ever tells me anything…" she whimpered a bit sadly, starting to twirl the end of her ponytail.

// SET LOCATION: THE ACHERUS

Sihner lay face-down on a plush deep red couch, only turning his head this way or that as instructed. If he was uncomfortable, he did not appear so.

Jaqlyn kneeled beside him, pushing and prodding inside of a large incision she had cut in the back of his neck. Beside her was another body, a regular, unanimated corpse of a man close in stature to Sihner. All the skin and squishy tissue had been removed from the back of his neck, and the witch pulled pieces of the spongy material from between his vertebra to replace that between Sihner's.

"This will stop the grinding. You were hanged, weren't you? I couldn't help but notice that your neck isn't broken. Perhaps you've had all of these bones replaced by someone else? I'm jealous."

"It never broke," he answered shortly.

"Oh! So you strangled to death. Mm, that's a lot more exciting—I wish I'd seen it. Strange, though… As far as I'd known, it was always the prison warden's wife that determined the height of the gallows." Never pausing her work, she waited for him to reply. When he did not, she went on. "My daughter is a great mathematician. I find it hard to believe that she made a mistake."

"Mm," was all he gave, half-ignoring her.

"Do you think Phasilica caused you to suffer intentionally?" Jaqlyn lifted her high, thin eyebrows. "Where did you come up with this corpse, by the way?"

"Saiynt."

"Ah? Did she go out and make a dead body, or did she already have them in stock? Neither would surprise me." Evidently finished filling the cracks, she picked up an ordinary sewing needle and thread. "I take it, then, that you're still fucking her."

"Mm."

"Ahh. It's interesting, then, that she wouldn't tell you about Abby." Jaqlyn felt his body stiffen underneath her hands, and a small smile spread across her face. Finally, something he was interested in. "Oh! She really, honestly didn't tell you? Abby's–well, not alive, of course, but walking around somewhere all the same. You should ask around. She's a twice-traitor, a Forsaken death knight, the same as you. How bizarre… I wonder why Saiynt would keep this from you." She bent her head to bite the end of the thread, then turned to push the needle into a pin cushion seated on an otherwise barren coffee table.

Behind her, Sihner sat up, his expression as immaculate as the room, while he lifted his foot and thrust forward at the knee to drive the old witch straight through the aging wooden table. A short cry was drown in the clamor of collapsing and splintering wood. He stood, pulling her out of the wreckage by a handful of her hair, dropping her on her feet. Immediately she swayed, but he caught her up in his arms, holding her limp form against his chest, so he could look down on her. The woman's hair had come undone and there was a noticeable crack across her newly exposed cheek bone.

"I know what you're trying to do," he growled, the unnatural gravelly quality highlighting any emotion that she guessed he'd felt. "I think it's best if you be quiet for a while." Keeping one arm around her middle, he lifted the other to grab firmly onto her jaw that he pulled, slowly, until the left side popped out of place. "Are we understanding each other?"

Squeezing her eyes shut tightly, she nodded her head very slowly.

"You're awfully fragile to be fucking with me, don't you think?" he released her, stepping over her on his way to the door.

Jaqlyn fell back between the two halves of her old coffee table and tilted her head up to watch him exit, her jaw half-hanging uselessly.

Sihner did not look back at her, allowing the door to fall shut behind him as he walked down the hall, looking straight ahead, even as another set of plate footsteps joined him.

"`Ey Mistah!" Saiynt jumped. When he did not reply—not that it was unusual—she hurried around in front of him, walking backwards. "You remembah, like a few minutes ago, when you was like, 'go kill a guy abou' my heigh' an' I was like, 'why', and you was like, 'pahts,' and I was like, 'okay,' an' then I did it? Well, ya' ansah' didn't really make any sense at all! I mean, at the time, I was kinda like, 'well, any reason is a good reason to kill'a motha'fuckah, but now I'm kinda curious," she rambled, expertly remaining upright the entire time, even over rough stone.

"Don't lie to me," He ordered gruffly once she had finished, even still without looking at her.

She narrowed her frost-blue eyes in confusion. "Lie to ya? Abou' wut?"

"Have you lied more than once?" He demanded, finally lowering his eyes to her level and coming to a stop.

"'Ey, Mistah, I ain' nevuh—" she began nervously, turning her head down with her hands in her pockets.

"By omission," he clarified, bending at the waist to stare hard at her face. "My daughter was raised. You didn't think I would be interested in that?"

"Ah…" Her shoulders sank as she stared at his face—mostly obscured by the leather straps—and she was thankful for it. Flat was something she could handle—but Saiynt had never seen him angry, and she never wanted to. "Hey, look…" even her voice cracked more than usual, nearly failing her, "ahm real sorry—"

He straightened and walked around her without another word.

*END: CHAPTER 21*

^BEGIN: DISCUSSION^

**-Tea: **Yuhhh yeah! Your fault, definitely. Ahhah. Not mine for making the mistakes in the first place. Yeeees. I uploaded it right now, actually. If you go back you'll see all these changes you made, except like one or two, which I ignored. :O

Jaqlyn is a cold bitch and a fraud and a selfish brat. :F She can come find you anywhere :F

Chord is a cutie :3 but unfortunately very, very weak Dx

As for Angel, I haven't given you any details as to where she came from… don't worry, no one is paying more attention than you. xD Leland is a bitter man, but I think that he and Angel will be good for one another. /hint.

MMMHM. Almost got all of the background and setup out of the way… it's almost time for Lisys and Negate to start running around again, I figure.:o

How funny. You're all "I'm not busy!" then you disappear for three months XDDDDD

Now did you really squee when you saw that picture? Or are you just jerking me around? It's the cutest picture ever, imho.

**-Ren: **Yes. Yes it did hurt. But no, she didn't want sex. xD She likes Sihner right now.

**-EMiH: **Oh wow! That made me feel good xD I hope you show up again. You really like everyone but Daynha, eh? Well, my boyfriend was an hXc Daynha hater but he seemed to like her more after this chapter. She's kind of cute if not a bit ungrateful. :F And you're not sick for eagerly awaiting Negate and Lisys hooking up xD Everyone else is too.

Any review is a good review! Don't sell yourself short. You made me happy I'm so glad that you like it, and if I ever find myself floating around the ghostland server…

**-Nubitox:** That's a valid point and I'm glad you showed it to me. I don't think constructive crit counts as "flaming", I think "flaming" is just where you go off on someone all OMG I HATE THIS STUPID STORRY!11!!111 etc.

But I must say, "lay off the gay shit"? Really? That's a little rude… =/ I mean just because you don't like it doesn't mean that a fanfiction was "ruined" by it. Anyway, there will be homosexuals in this story, too. I didn't post a warning because it's not a big part of it, but they will exist—just like they do in real life. It's unfortunate that you would stop reading it just because of that, but hey, what can I do?

**-Everyone: **BAM. Chapter done! The first chapter I put up in this new year… xD And it's almost the end of March! Eeek! I got way burnt out, and there are some things I'm not happy with in this chapter. A lot of things ,actually—I improved a lot since I began writing it. Unfortunately I don't think I'll ever have time now to go back thorugh and overhaul old chapters like I always meant to, just because I have other projects now, but this is just a fanfiction, after all x) Anyway I do intend to continue writing it, if not a bit slower—I'm hoping for like, an update a month. So. A lot slower. But continuing all the same =) Please subscribe to me for email updates if you haven't already! :3

^PEACE!^


	23. Chapter 22

^BEGIN: FYI^

I am ttly going to upload some help for those of you who are getting confused immediately after this chapter, HOWEVER, you MUST READ THIS CHAPTER FIRST because the character list following this chapter will contain spoilers.

^END FYI^

*BEGIN: CHAPTER 22*

//SET LOCATION: THE UNDERCITY

"Hey, now! Stop that, stop that!" Phasilica ordered unconvincingly through a laugh, pushing at Lisys's head lightly.

"Y- yes, ma'am!" Lisys withdrew her fingers from the taller woman's face, falling back onto her heels. "I just got excited, is all. I can't even see the stitches."

Absently, Phasilica felt around her jaw for needle-work. The goblins were… a shady, race, to say the least, but when the money was good enough, they could be trusted with nearly anything—even a woman's face. A year or so ago, a rotting infection forced her to cut out her bottom lip. Not long after, Vaschel requested her help defeating a resurrected Kael'thas, their swift exit triggered some kind of nervous disorder in Negatory, and she never did get around to replacing it. Now, only small holes in her cheeks remained, and the little bald spot Abby had created was nearly filled with hairs right out of Lisys's head.

"Goblins are smarter than you might think," She answered finally, very satisfied. "But what about you? I don't think I've ever visited the Undercity with a Forsakenness who didn't rearrange her face _somehow._"

"It wouldn't help…" Lisys said quietly, kneeling at the stone ledge, then dropping her boots over the side to sit. Overhead, bats screeched somewhere within the high ceiling before swooping down to steal a piece of rotten fruit, or nest in the hair of a visiting elf, or simply to make their presence known to everyone within the central Trading Quarter, the apex of commerce in the circular city. A little to the left, a descending stone bridge could take them to speak with a banker, and from that platform, another bridge could take them down to the main-level of the city. From there, a Hordic race was free to spread out to the corners of the former sewers and explore its darkest crevices.

Both Forsakenesses possessed residual memories of completing the city shortly after Sylvanas snatched it from the Scourge—to be a haven for her new people, where they could exist without interference—but all scenes immediately following _waking up _were hazy. For Lisys, it was as if she could nearly recollect watching someone else carry bricks to the masons, but had trouble convincing herself that it was her. Her only strong reflections within her undeath came from a time where she was already residing back within the valley of Deathknell, or whatever it was once called, with Oliver.

Several hundred feet below her boots was a pool of green slime that circulated all throughout the city. She knew that even if she were close, it would reflect nothing—not even her ugly face.

"I already asked. There's too much missing. It might be possible to replace my entire face, but it would be ill-fitting and I still wouldn't be pretty," Lisys smiled ironically, shaking her head. "Don't feel sorry for me. I was never cute. I… I don't even know what I'm missing."

Phasilica kneeled beside her more delicately, careful to keep her robes in perfect condition. "Being undead in the most beautiful city in the Eastern Kingdoms isn't easy."

"That's an understatement."

"Come with me." Phasilica stood again, tugging on Lisys's arm. "Let's find something to cover your mouth and nose with. You're a rogue anyway, so you might as well get used to it."

Lisys squeaked, allowing herself to be lead like livestock. "But… But Phasilica, I don't have any money!"

"I have some items put away that I'd always planned to give to Negatory," she informed, approaching a weary Forsaken banker. "I'd like to see my safety deposit box, please."

"But I don't have anything to give you in return, and you can't keep doing favors for me…" The rogue squirmed, desperately afraid of over-staying her welcome with these people that she was eager to grow attached to.

Phasilica held a piece of red mystery cloth to Lisys's face, nodded to herself affirmatively, then proceeded to tie it around, like a bandana. "It's already on, mm? It's yours now; nothing can be done about it." She trusted the banker to care for the box and simply pulled Lisys away from it. "Besides, you fixed Vaschel's shirt last night, didn't you?"

Lisys started, surprised that the other had noticed. "Yes. I--, I'm sorry if you were… were trying to teach him a lesson," she sputtered nervously as if she figured she was in trouble, "but he was so worked up about it, and really it is more my fault than yours that it was torn, since it was I that he had to save from that death knight, so…"

The priestess laughed on their way to the elevator. _I missed this about you, _she thought, but did not voice. "Don't worry, don't worry! Now he won't complain about it anymore, and I still didn't actually have to help the idiot. See? It worked out well for me. We'll say the peace and quiet is payment enough, and I won't hear any more about it. Now tell me, why couldn't you sleep? Is my bed too hard? The elves are always insisting that it is."

"No, it was no fault of yours…" the younger stepped onto the elevator platform as the doors opened, carefully, of course—they'd been known to kill people. "Just a bad dream."

Phasilica forced an ironic smile. "Hm. I understand that perfectly." She set a hand on Lisys's shoulder, a maternal gesture, as they approached the old, deadened courtyard. "Anything you want to tell me about?"

Lisys hung her head. "No… well," she snapped her chin up once more, staring off beyond the gates. Somewhere out there was Balnir Farmstead. "I keep seeing this necromancer in my head… that Negate and I had the misfortune of running into the other day…"

"A Forsaken necromancer?" Phasilica asked, watching Lisys watch nothing.

"No… Scourge." Lisys turned her face back to Phasilica, now completely covered, so that even what limited range of expression she possessed before was now nullified. "But she looked a lot like you."

The priestess felt her breath shallow until, in the stillness between the old stone walls, her mind was tricked into thinking it could hear her heart beating. "How much like me?"

The sudden seriousness confused the younger undead. "Well…"

"_Just _like me?" Phasilica demanded, setting both hands on the girl's shoulders and squeezing lightly. "This is important! How close did you have to be before you would be able to tell the difference?"

Lisys shrank, frightened by her sharp tone. "No, no, not _just _like you… F- from far away, maybe, but I could tell almost as soon as she turned around."

"_Jaqlyn,_" Phasilica hissed, easing her hands off of Lisys's shoulders.

"Jaqlyn?" the rogue repeated in a small voice. "Did… Did you know her? …I'm really sorry…"

The matron eased her breathing, gently setting a hand atop Lisys's head. It was not her intention to make the poor thing nervous. "Nonsense. You haven't done anything wrong. Let's go back, before they start to worry about us, hm?"

Lisys followed her quietly, wholly unconvinced that anyone was worried about _her. _

//SET LOCATION: SILVERMOON CITY

Negatory smiled at the golden sun, high overhead, swinging Dawnn's hand in hers. "You're so sweet! Thank you for playing dolls with me until my friend comes home," she sang, skipping intermittently to keep up with his long strides.

"Mmhm… but how about we keep that between us, huh?" he paused to cover a yawn with his free hand. "Especially don't mention this to—"

"Vaschel!" Negatory squealed, releasing Dawnn's hand to sprint forward. She skidded to a stop before a set of stone steps leading to a breezy doorway which eventually lead to Phasilica's loft.

Vaschel quickly picked up a bottle of light whiskey, lest her hyperactivity disturb it. "Heeey, sweetie! Where have you been all morning?"

"Playing with Dawnn," She announced brightly as the other paladin approached at his regular pace.

Vaschel glanced to Dawnn pointedly, then back to Negatory. "Oh? Playing what?"

"Hmmm, nothing! Is my friend home yet?"

"I've only been sitting here a little while. Go ask Negate, but try to be… as loud as possible. I think he's still hung over, buahaha."

Negatory sprang up again, never losing enthusiasm. "Okay, I think I will ask him! Bye, Dawnn!" and she scurried into the building.

Vaschel stood, examining Dawnn suspiciously. "I would hope you weren't doing anything _unlightful _to that poor, innocent little girl, hmm? I'd be _extremely _disappointed if you were taking advantage of her."

"Ugh, would you cut it out already?" the younger knight groaned, rubbing his forehead. "Of course I'm not. I'm going home to sleep now."

"Hmm… I know you're above that. I just like to be sure. Which reminds me, certainly you wouldn't return home without _this?" _The elder blonde produced a small piece of metal, insignificant from the outside looking in, however Dawnn recognized it immediately.

"Wh--!? That's a hinge to my table! Damnit, Vaschel, no wonder I couldn't fix it! Give it back!"

Having rounded the exquisite, flat stairways to Phasilica's small loft, Negatory was drawn immediately to the open kitchen window where, leaning over the sill, she could see Vaschel with a big smile on his face holding some object above his head, so that Dawnn could just barely touch it with his fingertips, but was scarcely half an inch too short to snatch the item away. A vein was pulsing in Dawnn's forehead, evident even from the rogue's altitude, as he alternated demanding and pleading for the piece's return.

The image made her smile. They were so different and so much the same, getting along famously one second and quarreling the next. This picture summarized them perfectly, except that some piece appeared to be missing, and the more she watched them struggle, the more she felt certain she was missing something.

Fragments, bits and pieces of arguments she'd caught just before her brother sent her to bed when she was a small girl, things she wasn't supposed to hear, whirred around her head in a disconnected way that appeared to make no sense no matter which way she turned them. She had been watching those two argue, albeit playfully, for nearly ten minutes before she was able to form a real suspicion. Could it be…?

"Is something going on out there?" Negate asked, stepping into the kitchen. He'd changed out of his robes and into more ordinary clothing for the purpose of laundering it. "Lisys and Phasilica aren't back yet."

She carefully shut the window on their jeers, swallowing carefully. "No… it's just… Earlier, I was talking to Dawnn about Cevian…" she paused, feeling very unsure of herself.

Negate wrinkled his nose and had a seat at the table. "So?"

"Well… Then I asked him if he ever gets curious about _his_ father, and he just ignored the question. He always does that," she carefully moved into the chair beside him, watching his face. No reaction.

"So?" Negate drummed his fingers on the table impatiently.

"Well, why not?"

Negate heaved a sigh. "He probably doesn't like talking about it."

"I gathered that!" she puffed her cheeks out in a pout. "But why noooot?"

Suddenly her brother seemed impatient. "He's a bastard, Negatory. Think about it."

"But so am I, technically!" she shot back, an emotion she couldn't quite identify building in her heart. "And I don't mind talking about Cevian."

Negate snickered lightly, shaking his head. "That's because you don't _know _the man."

"Exactly!" she beat her little fists against the table for emphasis, frustrated he wasn't taking her seriously. "He must know who his father is, right!?"

"This conversation is over," he declared in a very finite tone, starting to stand, but his sister grabbed his wrist.

Her eyes welled up a bit. At this point, she had to know. There wasn't any stepping backward, and Dawnn, her most beloved friend, was worth knowing—even if it meant asking someone else behind his back. "Nate!" she sniffled, tightening her grip. "You've lied to me."

"Tory—"

"No, don't try to justify it! All my life you lied to me. You told me both my parents were dead, that wasn't true. You told me that we were poor, that wasn't true. You even had the audacity to tell me that you and Adel were _just friends _for years! Please… would it kill you to be honest with me just once? Just say yes or no! Shake and nod your head if that's too much."

Negate clenched his teeth, but sat down again and grudgingly nodded his head. "Yes. He does know who his father is." With any luck, she'd guess wrong from there—most people did.

Nervous anxiety flooded her insides. She looked toward the window, where she knew they were likely still bickering then quickly scooted her chair closer to Negate. Suddenly her voice felt thick, and she couldn't force the words fast enough. "V- Vaschel… Vaschel and Dawnn are half-brothers, aren't they?"

The warlock avoided looking to her face, staring straight down at the table. His muscles relaxed and very reluctantly he nodded his head.

All of the color drained from the tiny elf's face, but she couldn't allow herself to stop. "Daynha… was raped, wasn't she?"

He shut his eyes and swallowed thickly, again bobbing his head up and down.

The rogue let out a sharp cry, despite all of her efforts to keep quiet, because she was sure her lungs would explode if she didn't. "A- and Vaschel's mother, whoever she was?!" she demanded with desperation, muffled by her hand.

"…I don't know… but, it's… very likely." Negate answered heavily, finally forcing himself to look at the small, pitiful girl, his own flesh and blood, as she endured her first real, hard lesson.

She leaned to her left and onto his chest, her hand becoming insufficient to muffle her sobs, while her fingers curled in his shirt. How could something so awful have ever happened to people that she knew, that she cared so much for?

Negate felt his own heart crushed—after nearly twenty years of bearing all burdens for her, he never expected that she would crack the happy, fragile world he had built for her with her own hands. His breath hitched as he wrapped an arm around her, setting his free hand atop her head. "Besides Daynha, we only know of Rachel and Adel's mother, who is one and the same, and from what Adel remembered, was crazy as hell and legally married to the man. We don't know anything of Vaschel's mother, or their other siblings."

Negatory tilted her misty eyes back up to his face, touching his goatee imploringly. "What was… what was his name?"

"Ariel," he answered quietly, like it was a filthy word.

"I… I thought so…" she pulled away just enough to wipe at her eyes with futility before laying her face against him once more, fighting the mock-hiccups that arise after strong emotion. "How do… how do they all stay so cheerful…?"

"That I can't tell you, Tory, I honestly have no idea." He pulled the hard clip securing her hair in a ponytail off of her head to run his fingers through the dark locks and just held her for several minutes, her shoulders quivering intermittently. He would have given anything to protect her from this forever, but at the same time, he was proud of her, proud of her for reacting so… calmly.

Eventually she sniffled a little, feeling a restlessness growing inside her to push away the sorrow. More strongly than she meant to, she pulled away from him to stand, hurrying to the kitchen window to toss it open once more. "Hmm? Dawnn went home…" she frowned, drumming her fingers on the sill.

Negate approached to stand behind her, leaning over her head out the window. "Mmhm. But Lisys and Phasilica are back, see?" He pointed into the distance.

Tory squirmed beneath him. "Is it… is it okay to be excited about that now?"

Her brother smiled a little. "As opposed to… what? Sulking forever?"

"I kind of want to," she admitted miserably.

"They don't," he reminded, bending to kiss her head.

Below the siblings, Vaschel stood up as the Forsakenesses approached, a puzzled expression etched across his mostly-sober face. "_Wow… you two look different_."

Lisys shied behind Phasilica partly, intimidated by Vaschel—and this pretty language she didn't understand—even after he saved her life and she mended his shirt. His slip back into Thalassian was not lost on the priestess, and she did not appreciate it after repeated reminders. However, she had more urgent business.

"Lisys, would you do me a favor and ensure my apartment has not been torn asunder? I'm right behind you," she smiled as warmly as she was capable, stepping to the side.

"Ah…" Lisys nodded weakly, taking a deep breath before dashing around Vaschel and into the building, as if passing him were a great source of anxiety.

The brawny elf watched her run by, eyebrow raised. "You know, one time, Rydel brought home this rabbit, and all my sisters pulled its ears and kicked it around until it was ugly and only Rachel could get near it. Every time I see that Lisys girl, I think, _Snowball._"

Phasilica set her hands on her hips, tapping her foot impatiently all throughout the anecdote. "Are you quite through?" she snapped.

"Holy Light! Far be it for me to visit with you a minute," he scowled as he turned to face her again, popping the top of another bottle of dark liquid. "I take it you're looking for something specific?"

She took a calming breath, realizing that she was getting ahead of herself. She did not anticipate it would be easy to convince him to leave his friends, so she needed to keep herself under control. Almost reluctantly she gathered her robes to sit beside the paladin—the _drunk_—and on the _ground. _"You dragged me out of bed one night to chase the idiot prince of this land, and… now I need you to repay the favor. There's someone… a bit more personal I want dead," she informed in a quiet tone.

He watched her from the corner of his eye as he tilted his head back to take a swig. "Okay…" he answered gently, inherently sensitive to her inflections. "Who is it?"

"Her name is Jaqlyn."

"Jaqlyn?" Surprise etched into his mostly sober face. "Jaqlyn Crisys? … Isn't she your _mother_?"

"Allegedly," she spat sarcastically. "My family history is not particularly important; you'll just have to trust me when I say she's walked among us long enough."

"We'll have to find her first, won't we?"

"Yes, but, it shouldn't be difficult. I believe she's looking for me," absently, Phasilica touched where her hair had been replaced near the base of her skull.

Vaschel sat back and gazed at Phasilica down his nose in an effort to hide that he was gawking. The stitching on her new lower lip was so fine that he could scarcely tell it wasn't her original, but he reasoned he could find the threading, if not with his tongue, than with more sensitive parts of his body. But he had promises to keep that meant he could not simply run off again. "Remember the fiasco the last time we left?"

"I've already thought about it. Negatory won't even notice this time," the priestess returned with cool determination.

"I want to help you, Phasilica, I really do, but…" he exhaled sadly, his chest tightening.

The undead pressed her tongue against the very edge of a small hole in her cheek thoughtfully, tracing a pattern in her robe with her nails. She couldn't let him refuse this. Keeping her voice as flat and serious as always, she gave one last second of thought before speaking.

"Vaschel, do you still love me?"

His whole body stiffened as if she shot him, and he clutched the bottle of whiskey hard. "Phasilica, I…" he swallowed wearily, shaking his head. "… You're not… being fair…"

She gripped the cloth tightly a moment, just above where her flesh ended and her bones became exposed, then released it and stood abruptly. "You're right. I should not ask you for favors."

"Wait!" He ordered urgently, reaching up to snatch her wrist. "How can you be so sure?" Vaschel implored, tugging her to sit beside him once more. She complied.

"When you and I left," Phasilica began to explain plainly, "it was like the world ended for her. But when her own brother left, she worried just like any normal person."

The elf scoffed, thankful to be off the previous subject. "Are you implying what I think you are? That's a little rude! Granted, he can be kind of a jackass, but I'm sure she missed Negate just as much."

"I am not implying that at all," she growled impatiently. "What I am saying, is that she reacts that way only when Negate is present."

"So then you're saying she's doing this for attention? I know I've said this in the past, but you are _mean _tonight."

"No, Vaschel," she snarled, snatching the bottle of whiskey from him just as he was about to take a drink. "Pay. _Attention. _Negate, however unwittingly, has given her some sort of complex. I don't understand it completely, but she reacts to things strongly, often childishly, because that's what he expects of her, in a way. I know it sounds tedious, but once Negate's gone, we won't have this problem."

The holy warrior considered the notion a moment. "…Okay, I could see that," he nodded his head, deciding it was plausible. "But what about Negate, then? Do we push him off something tall? I mean, I… I kinda like the guy."

"No. I'm merely going to tell him that they need help down south and it will be a good opportunity to stretch his ability," she answered, sniffing the bottle curiously and making a disgusted face. Leave it to Vaschel to drink something strong in the early afternoon.

"Wait a minute, wait a minute. You said yourself that this whole thing is his fault, in a round-about way, and you think he'll just leave little Negatory here, willingly, for the first time in twenty years?"

"Yes," Phasilica rose to her feet, dusting her robes off. "Tory is free to grow up, for once. Negate has someone else to take care of now."

"You mean _Lisys?_" he started, standing as well. "I think you are underestimating how shallow we elves really are. Besides, what makes you think he's even that interested in experience, hmm?"

She scowled at Vaschel, as if it should have occurred to him already. "Why would anyone sell their soul to demons only to do _nothing_?"

"Well sure! But he made that decision young, before Negatory was--…" he stopped, staring at the undead in awe. "You've thought of everything, haven't you?"

The priestess gathered a handful of her robes in one hand to prepare for the stairs immediately inside the building. "If you agree, I'll talk to him right now."

Vaschel rubbed his forehead. "Yeah, if you're sure Tory won't drop fifteen pounds again… Could I have my whiskey back, first?" he asked, then ducked as a brown bottle flew over his head and crashed into the stone street.

*END: CHAPTER 22*

//BEGIN LETTER: LISYS TO DEATHGUARD OLIVER

Dear Oliver,

I guess you're too busy to answer me right now. I understand.

I thought I would give you an update on how I'm doing, just in case you're interested. If you're not, it's okay to just throw this away…

I'm on the road again! Negate and I are going to travel together some more, isn't that wonderful? I can't believe it! I thought for sure he'd consider his debt repaid after a day or two in his beautiful city and throw me at the Orb of Translocation. He's still mean to me, but not as often. I think that this time he feels like his sister is in good hands, where as before, the uncertainty was eating at him.

We're going to head south. I hope the rest of Quel'Thalas is just as pretty.

Hey, I know that it's rare to have a disturbance in our tiny town, but… please be careful, okay?

Sorry I rambled.

Lisys

//BEGIN LETTER: NEGATE VOIDBREAKER TO CEVIAN VOIDBREAKER

Father,

After a hard conversation with my sister (that's your daughter, in case you've forgotten) and a hard look at my life, I've decided that I don't despise you as much as I originally thought.

Don't get excited. I still find you pretentious, I believe you are far too squeamish on the subject of fel magic, and I still blame you for the death of my mother.

But all of that aside, you could have been worse, and I thought I would pay you the courtesy of the knowledge that your children are still alive.

Don't reply. I won't read it.

Negate

PS: Tell that little home-wrecker I said hello.

^BEGIN: DICUSSION^

**-Escalus: **OH GOD MY BONES. Also.Hiiiiiii! I thought you died. :o You didn't review the last chapter. That's a rare occurrence for you. xD See next installment, hopefully it helps.

**-Rhamana: **Oh shucks I bet you say that about all the fanfictions you read (: Negate is my favorite character I think, too. So full of himself xD I believe he's pretty good looking too.

**-Froggyslice: **HEEEY. You favored me like a year ago and have been quiet this whole time. xD I remember you specifically because of your name. It interests me. Thank you for poking your head in, and I am glad you're still paying attention (:

**-(everyone): **OKAY. I see that this story gets a little difficult to follow. See immediate update after this chapter.


	24. x CHARACTER LIST

^FYI^

Will spoil (RUIN THE FICCY FOR YOU FOREVER!!!!) my fanfiction if you read this summary before you read all chapters (Introduction + chapters 1 through 22). SO BEFORE YOU CONTINUE, please ensure that you have read up to this point! Thank you.

^END FYI^

GREETINGS.

Some (all??) of you have really been crying out for some sort of simplified who's who. This is a big story that I abandoned for like three months, so it makes sense that you guys would be confused, not that you weren't paying attention… right? ;) All jesting aside, this mentions pretty much every character I have ever mentioned in this massive a/n. Hopefully this will make things easier on you (: Please note, however, that some lines haven't been drawn yet, and I will do my absolute best not to give you any external hints, because I oft do my best to avoid spoon-feeding a story. Bahaha!

_**DECEASED**_

_(As in, assumed to be in the ground and no longer, eh, animated. In no particular order.)_

**Janelle: **(priest) Served as a priestess for the Scarlet Crusade and was briefly friends with Jibreel and Ex Xanthic, but then Sihner mashed her face in a stone wall and she's dead. Lol.

**Missus Andy: **(??? So far appears to be classless)A friend of Lisys's from her life. Was friends with Eliza Callen, a leather worker in Brill. According to Eliza, she was risen as Scourge, but Lisys has been unable to confirm.

**Iota Voidbreaker: **Her name has never come up, but she was Negate's ailing mommy. Died in childbirth when he was 15.

**Avarett Crysis: **(paladin)Married to Jaqlyn Crysis, fathered Phasilica and Angelina. Used to travel with Sihner Xanthic and Robert Cisneros. Never explicitly mentioned, but he had a younger sister who married Sihner's brother, and from this union came Ex, meaning that Ex would be Avarett's nephew. Served as a mentor and long-time friend for Vaschel. Fostered Jibreel, also serving as her mentor (also never explicitly said, although she has mentioned Avarett before.)

**Robert Cisneros: **(paladin, died as an ex-paladin) fathered Saiynt. Traveled with Avarett Crysis and Sihner Xanthic, though he harbored an extreme mutual dislike for the latter.

**Vaschel's Sisters: **(rangers)On numerous occasions within the story (and in flashbacks) it has been mentioned that Vaschel had seven (half) sisters before the Third War. His family is pretty easy to spot because most (not always the case, ex: Dawnn) of his family's first names will end in –el. Two of his sisters are particularly important—

_Rachel Dauntlight_: Vaschel's only older sister, twenty years his senior. She raised nearly all of her siblings with Vaschel's help. Had a strictly sexual but rather long relationship with Sihner Xanthic. Fostered Negatory for the first two years of her life.

_Adel Dauntlight: _Lacked the sunny disposition of most of her family, formerly Negate's lover.

**Mason Andy: **(paladin) was slaughtered by Vaschel after breaking away from a raid and asking Dawnn about Phasilica's whereabouts. She was upset by his death.

**Jacob Andy:** (former paladin??) An undead that appeared to have known Sihner on some personal level at one time, but was unfortunately a Scourge prisoner that Sihner himself was tasked with murdering.

_**Elves**_

_(In no particular order. Includes high elves and blood elves.)_

**Vaschel Dauntlight: **(paladin, briefly was an expaladin, then blood knight) Had seven sisters who are all dead (see 'deceased'), and is a half-brother to Dawnn Highnoon. Was mentored by Avarett Crysis. Was fathered by an infamous serial rapist, his mother is unknown. Loves Negate to the point of alleged bromance, however, it is Phasilica who keeps his balls in a jar on her nightstand.

**Negate Voidbreaker: **(warlock) What the ff--? Have you been paying any attention at all? *SIGH* Son of Cevian and Iota Voidbreaker, step son to Chord Voidbreaker (who he is not fond of), and Negatory Voidbreaker's brother. Was banging Adel. BFFs with Vaschel, or whatever the male equivalent of that is. Travels with Lisys. Is also on friendly terms with Dawnn, Phasilica, and was formerly with Daynha, but does not approve of her anti-Forsaken stance.

**Cevian Voidbreaker: **(mage) Father of Negate and Negatory, and likely several bastards he is not aware of. Formerly married to Iota, the mother of his children. Currently married to Chord Voidbreaker, who he actually discovered on a walk with his young son; she had been raped, beaten, and stuffed between two buildings to die hiding in plain sight. Is not on speaking terms with Negate; does not speak with Negatory often due to his circumstances with Negate. Has apparently met or befriended Sihner Xanthic at some point, as the deathknight saved Negate's life once, citing that he "owed his father a favor."

**Negatory Voidbreaker: **(rogue) Negate's spritely younger sister, daughter of Cevian and Iota Voidbreaker. Enjoys Lisys's company and is pushing for marriage, more for the benefit of being a legal sister to Lisys and the joys of planning a wedding than for their happiness, however she is certain they are "destined to be" (and frankly, so am I.) Was fostered by the Dauntlights briefly, and maintains a close relationship with Vaschel. Seems to have the hots for Dawnn.

**Dawnn Highnoon: **(paladin, former priest) Half-brother of Vaschel's, and therefore all of his sisters, son of Daynha Highnoon and Ariel Dauntlight.

**Daynha Highnoon: **(paladin) Dawnn's mother and a friend of Vaschel's from childhood. She was born in high society, the same circle as the Voidbreakers, and during her pregnancy, Cevian took pity for her in light of her family's mistreatment and adamant demands that she 'get rid of the baby'. He supported her financially often, and she describes herself as being forever in his debt, even though they have _drastically _different ideals and probably wouldn't get along otherwise. She dislikes all Forsaken and appears to hate Phasilica most intensely.

**Fae Adams: **(warlock) is some sort of acquaintance of Negate's, and has frequent flings with Vaschel. Isn't really important to the story.

**Fabricate: **(mage) lured Negate into Tirisfal Glades in the first place, he later took revenge by dumping her off on an unintelligent orc named Beatstick. Her importance ends there.

**Chord Voidbreaker: **(classless ordinary citizen) Cevian's wife and Negate/Negatory's step-mother. Cute, but woefully stupid, and just over six years older than her step-son.

_**Forsaken **_

_(in no particular order)_

**Lisys**: (rogue, formerly classless)She's… pretty important. xD Daughter of Denton Grind. Has endured a series of intense emotional and physical trauma that have left her painfully shy. Was (is still, technically) married to Deathguard Oliver. Currently travels with Negate. Saiynt seems to want her awfully bad. Is somehow related to a girl by the name of Nadia.

**Phasilica: **(priest, former… priest xD) Fond of Lisys, Negatory and Negate… has mixed feelings for Vaschel, to put it simply. Daughter of Avarett and Jaqlyn Crisys, and appears to be fond of neither parent— twin sister of Angelina. Expresses irritation with alcoholism and the light—paladins in particular.

**Deathguard Oliver: **Was married to Lisys, seems extraordinarily indifferent lately.

**Eliza Callen: **Briefly befriended Lisys, and invaded her personal space to the point of interest for Negate.

_**Scourge**_

_(you know what I'm going to say.)_

**Saiynt: **(death knight, former warrior) Daughter of Robert Cisneros, who she detests intently for reasons undisclosed so far. Clearly in love, or something like it, with Sihner Xanthic, and is somehow fond of Lisys, perhaps in a master-pet way? Unlike Sihner, she so far has retained all of her memory, though that appears to be changing. Hates Abby Xanthic humorously.

**Sihner Xanthic: **(was a paladin, then an ex-paladin, then a death knight) Father of Abby Xanthic. Enjoyed an active sex life, despite never speaking to anyone if he can help it, including, predominately, past lovers such as Jaqlyn Crisys and Rachel Dauntlight (neither mothered Abby), but now mostly Saiynt. At this point in time, he doesn't appear to be fond of anyone. xD Used to travel with Avarett Crysis and Robert Cisneros, the latter of which he disliked intensely.

**Abby Xanthic: **(death knight, former warrior)Sihner's daughter and a childhood friend of Angelina and Phasilica's, as their fathers were well-acquainted (and, incidentally, sharing a wife. Oohhhh.) Also appears to know Nadia, an unknown relation of Lisys's.

**Jaqlyn Crisys: **(necromancer, former mage) Lied, cheated, and stole her way into Avarett's life and bore him two children. Has taken a crazy one-sided liking to Sihner, who has bedded her on numerous occasions, but will never return her… eh, feelings. Otherwise, she was sleeping with just about everyone except Avarett. Phasilica does not appear to like her much, and this sentiment is shared by many—however, she is a skilled manipulator and 'pulls the strings' on several operations, so to speak. Had been known to hire Ariel Dauntlight for various 'dirty work', although she was well aware of his reputation, including heinous crimes.

_**Humans **_

**Leland Andy: **(warrior) Somehow friends with Ex and Jibreel. Currently caring for Angel.

**Jibreel: **(paladin) Was fostered by Avarett Crysis during part of her adolescence, now a Scarlet Crusade zealot. Has a lingering crush from her childhood on Vaschel, but is banging Ex.

**Ex Xanthic: **(mage) Is a nephew of Sihner (by his father) and Avarett (by his mother) and worries about Jibreel losing her mind in the Scarlet Crusade, though he still follows (reluctantly) on account of his blind love for her.

_**Other**_

**Endian: **(warrior)An orc, only member of a raid group to realize Negate so wasn't ready for that. xD Has a fledgling relationship with Vaschel and appears to be related to Beatstick somehow.

**Beatstick: **(warrior) Recurring comic relief. Wants Fabricate. xD

**Angel: **(child for chrissakes) a half-elf orphan currently in the care of Leland Andy.

**Krank: **(ordinary citizen?) the goblin that started it all. xD He kicked Negate out of his barber shop, Nate's attitude serving as 'the last straw' in his epic battle to tolerate elfin attitudes. From there, he met up with a raid group, and… the rest is history. xD

**//END.**

So, there it is. 32 characters worth mentioning, some are rather static and unimportant, but I placed them here anyway… partially for the lulz. It's not a chart or graph or diagram, but I am considering making an actual family tree for you homos later. We'll see (:

But I dunno what you guys are all complaining about :P I mean if I cut out some of the unimportant ones, it's really only like, twenty five people that have crossed paths in every direction. Geeze.


	25. Chapter 23

*BEGIN: CHAPTER 23*

//SET LOCATION: SOUTHERN EVERSONG FOREST

The transition from Eversong Forest to the Ghostlands was very subtle at first. A thick, plagued haze seeped out of the south, smelling of sickness and old death, but was so similar to Tirisfal Glades that it almost went unnoticed by Lisys or Negate until they were nearly to the Elrendar River, where the path crossed the Dead Scar for the second time.

_Scar _was a fitting name for the grisly blemish running north out of the Scourge capital in the Ghostlands and straight through Silvermoon City. Stupid stragglers from the Third War mingled with scouts and agents of Deathholme in the form of gory, bloody ghouls and translucent shades of violent emotion. The path was broken and rough where it crossed the hideous disfiguration, prompting Lisys to walk unnaturally close to Negate, something to hold onto should she lose her footing.

_These were once people_. The thought squirmed slickly into her consciousness, despite her best efforts to ignore it. _These were once people—they are like you. You are one and the same._

To the left, behind a dead bouquet of sticks, a rotting marauder had pinned another such undead to the dry earth, feeding from a crack in its skull as it struggled. It shrieked once, and not again.

More than anything, she wished to feel repulsed by the Dead Scar in the same way that Negate did—because it was a dark mark on a beautiful land, and because it was a reminder of a senseless battle where many lost their lives. Instead, she was repulsed because it felt so familiar, because of a filthy sense of belonging, and because it brought her to the brink of memories she was better off without.

"…Negate…" Lisys whimpered, craving the voice of the living more than anything. Her eyes had pulled shut, but snapped open again as his warm fingers closed around her wrist.

"Come on, up you go," he ordered, tugging on her. "First time I've made it across the damn thing without using Jublop. Can you believe it? He's honestly as useless as I had always suspected."

Lisys climbed out of the scorched dip, nodding numbly. "Y- yeah… H- hey, why don't we toss him back in?" She smiled for a short-lived moment, relief flooding her insides.

Jublop cackled eerily, eyeing the bare back of her right leg. Before the night was through, he'd sink his teeth in that very spot.

"Perhaps if it would actually kill him, it would seem worth the effort," Negate smirked. "Remember, I'm only a short errand away from a quieter servant."

"Mhm…" Lisys nodded quietly, walking slightly behind the warlock instead of beside, as if she too were a minion. "I'm glad, but… may I ask why you need more than one?"

"Different demons are better suited to differing tasks," Negate explained simply.

Lisys looked down at the wiry creature that appeared to be examining her hungrily. Besides cannon fodder, she couldn't imagine a real use for such a bizarre, obnoxious little monster, but perhaps the _voidwalker, _as her companion called it, would be more to her liking.

Negate extended his index finger suddenly, pointing ahead a short distance. "I'll be damned! Lisys, that's our Courier," he informed, gesturing toward an unfortunate elf lying on the stone path. He was blonde, and did not resemble his redheaded aunt who had asked the travelers to keep an eye out for him. Nonetheless, the elf recognized the design and materials in his red and gold getup as one common to rangers, hunters, outrunners and the like.

The undead pressed a hand to the side of her face with a whimper as they approached the pale body of a blood elf. The last trip she wanted to make was back to Fairbreeze Village to tell the Magistrix that her nephew was dead. "Is… he…?"

Negate leaned over the messenger to examine him more closely. He let out a sigh of relief that Lisys copied as the man shifted. "No. Not yet."

The strange elf took a deep breath and squirmed awkwardly until Negate helped roll him onto his back, allowing his chest to fully expand with a gasp. "Help me, stranger. I must… reach Tranquillien… I cannot fail," he rasped before losing consciousness again.

"What are you standing around for!?" a sharp voice cut through the mismatched trio, that of another female undead. "Can't you see this boy needs immediate attention? By the looks of it, the plague is beginning to take over his body. Within minutes not even a master apothecary like me will be able to save him!"

With the exception of her bones, which every Forsaken displayed proudly and mandatorily, only the apothecary's yellow eyes were visible beneath thick robes and a hood. Despite her limited experience with the Royal Apothecary Society, Lisys recognized the position immediately and straightened her back.

"Yes, ma'am!" she answered urgently.

Negate, however, was skeptical. "And just where did _you_ come from?"

The stranger ignored him, appealing urgently to Lisys instead. "Listen, the animals to the south of the river all carry the plague in their blood. Go across the bridge and hunt the plagued beasts there. Bring me enough plagued blood samples and I'll distill a serum capable of saving this man's life."

Wrinkles streaked Lisys's forehead as she gazed into the spooky lantern-yellow of the other woman's eyes. Apothecaries weren't known for saving lives or curing the sick; in fact, good deeds ran perpendicular to the greater part of Forsaken mentality. Even Lisys herself, on the lighter end of the spectrum, could have difficulty finding sympathy for a random victim encountered in the street. This elf was special. She and the apothecary had an immediate understanding.

The chemist returned her stare only long enough to let her know the feeling was mutual before stepping forward to seize her shoulders and spin her around bodily with a light shove. "Hurry, or the pretty blood elf boy is a goner!"

Lisys broke into an obedient run that Negate copied, albeit with one last suspicious glance at the strange undead. The aforementioned river was very close, and across it laid the courier's only salvation.

"Did you know her?" Negate asked as soon as he was certain the woman was out of earshot, mid-way across the quaint bridge.

"It seemed that way, didn't it?" Lisys answered his question with another in a voice he couldn't read, stopping suddenly as soon as her feet hit stone on the other side of the river.

What was previously a gradual shift in the atmosphere—mild darkening of the sky, a sick thickening of the air—became a total metamorphosis over the space of a skinny river. The sun was nearly overcast completely by the brewing illness from the stronger bordering plaguelands, trees with no foliage stood only with their last forces of life, and even native creatures such as the lynx were mutated until they became as hostile as the mistbats and spiders that had moved in with the Scourge.

Negate was unaffected and hardly even paused to allow Lisys time to gawk. "I noticed she covered her entire face as well… Do you think that she is as horribly disfigured as you are? I wonder if it would be too impolite to ask."

"Ugly as that thing?" Jublop cackled, gesturing to Lisys with his foot before resuming somersaults around his master. "I don't think so!"

The warlock snickered, connecting the bottom of his boot with the creature's chest mid rotation, sending it rolling instead off the path and into an emaciated ghostclaw lynx. "Shut up and get to work."

"Is this _really_ necessary!?" He screeched, lifting his hands to summon a small bolt of fire, despite arresting claw swipes from the very annoyed, and likely very hungry, large feline.

"I'll let them eat you," Negate threatened, a black light bursting from the nether around his hands as he corrupted his target from the inside, an ailment the dumb beast wouldn't notice until it was too late.

Lisys watched him idly for a moment, finding herself thinking only of the apothecary and the courier, and wishing them the best of luck; that the elf would live but his recovery would be slow, allowing her a few days more the company of a gorgeous living man, and he a rare glimpse in the ways the Forsaken are still human, until no excuse for their partnership remained and they were forced to separate.

She wondered also when Negate's sense of adventure would fizzle, or he'd find a more attractive traveling partner, or even several, and she'd have to embark on her quest to serve the Deathguard on her own. Their goals were so different—his to study the unstable and mysterious natures of fel magic and hers to find a place in the everlasting vigil against all who should bother the Forsaken—that dissolution seemed imminent, if not very near. In fact, his quest to tame another demon meant a brief return to Silvermoon City, and it wouldn't surprise her if he decided then he never wanted to leave again.

"Negate," she called from the path, watching him approach the dead animal to collect a small sample of blood. "I'm going to go this way…" she pointed behind her, to the east.

He turned his head briefly, still kneeling. "What for? I thought—" he was interrupted as another animal, this time an angry plagued bat, swooped low to swipe at the back of his head with its sharp talons. He barely dodged them and decided not to protest, but to ask later. "All right, don't go far!"

Jublop, with no choice but to protect his warlock as always, raised his hands to begin casting disdainfully while Negate stood, dropping a heavy curse and corruption on the poor dim creature while it struggled, shrieked, and cut both master and pet in alternating confusion before meeting its end.

"This is too much work!" Jublop complained, dancing from foot to foot within his ghastly green aura. He was as eager for a permanent dismissal as Negate. "We should just let the messenger die."

"Your spells are slow. You're lucky to get one off before the animal dies," Negate scowled, hiking up a small mound to gaze at the field beyond—just a short strip of land before a particularly sharp drop off back into the Dead Scar—occupied by both another starving ghostclaw and a large bat.

The elf focused on the large cat, deftly conjuring fire out nothing that jumped the air with no more than a push of his hand, engulfing his victim in an eruption of flame that would wane but continue to burn him slowly. The ghostclaw snarled and charged.

Negate nudged Jublop forward with his foot. "Go! And remember, we're in a hurry," he ordered in a hiss, then left Jublop to deal with the lynx while he subdued the mistbat. Except for the emphasis on speed, this task was not particularly unique, and he had every confidence that the courier would live, assuming that was the apothecary's honest intention, and he sincerely hoped it was.

The creature died on the banks of a small split in the Elrendar, a thin branch that ran through the Dead Scar a short distance before snaking around to rejoin the ocean. Rather carelessly he knelt, thinking to collect its blood like he would all the others, but was instead surprised by the swipe of a large cat still partially aflame. With a short, angry cry, he lost his balance and tumbled easily down the scorched overhang, rolled a short distance, and ended face-down in the water.

Flipping over quickly he faced his attacker, agitated to find the ghostclaw he had charged Jublop with nearly mad with the slipping away of its life. Either his little nuisance of a servant had attracted the attention of other dangers with his grating voice, or he was simply too incompetent to handle even one dumb beast—both scenarios were equally likely.

Negate swiped mud out of his face as he stood with a growl, easily overpowering the creature's mind to send it on a terrified run down the scar and away from the warlock while he recovered himself angrily. His robes, heavy under normal conditions, were soaked, and there was even _mud _in his _hair, _he could _feel it._

He removed the thick blue and gold porcelain piece that directed his hair a short distance from his scalp, allowing his hair to fall around his shoulders. Removing a glove, he wiped miserably at his crown with a whimper, and ran his fingers through his hair section-by-section. Every cloud of dirt he brushed away served to lower his spirits that much further, and the ends of his ears drooped until they could be folded in half.

"This is the price to save a man's life?" he asked himself, wincing as he dropped a clod of mud only to watch it break open, releasing a collection of varied insect life. "Oh, _forget this!"_

Lisys peeked her head over the edge of the drop off, holding a pair of small water flasks, emptied and used instead to hold animal blood, between boney fingers. She was startled to see Negate in such a disarray and felt prompted to watch him quietly, certain she had never seen so much hair—and definitely not on a male—in her entire life. The undead never paid much mind before, tied back as it always was, but his locks were a sight. Her own hair was considered black, but of the human variety—in reality, a mingling of very dark steel and blue hues—while his long, thick tresses were indeed _black_ in the truest sense of the word: a rich void of no color whatsoever. She'd never wanted to touch any part of anybody so badly, and yet she wouldn't dare attempt it.

"N- … Negate?"

"What!?" he glowered at her, tossing matted strands behind his shoulder.

"I… i-… it looks fine…" she muttered shyly, backing up a step. She wasn't so keen on the idea of falling in herself.

Negate crossed his arms stiffly, ears regaining her rigidity as he took out his frustration on the undead, a common habit she'd almost forgotten about in Silvermoon City. "Can't you see it's _caked _with _dirt?_" he hissed. "Augh, Jublop, that little whoreson! … I don't suppose an ugly thing like you would carry a brush? Of course not! And oh, my robes…" he groaned, uncrossing his arms to dust off his body.

Again, Lisys was confronted with the urge to help, which she resisted—both because he would throttle her, and because she would not enter the scar without valid reason. Then, he gave her one.

As he was wringing his sleeves of muddy water and frantically beating dust off of his boots, a small, unearthly blue rock caught his eyes, glowing dimly in the filth. A voidstone; the original purpose of their journey—finally, a lucky break. Smoothing his hair behind elongated ears, he bent to retrieve it, unable to take his eyes off of the object as he lifted it to his face.

"…What is it?" asked his companion, but he didn't hear her. The object easily hijacked his thoughts, and his vision began to swirl. Negate's eyes rolled back into his head and he swayed lightly, gazing at an old, multi-floored tower haunted by ghostly figures. Sharpening and blurring of the image showed him other buildings, likewise unkempt, and likewise guarded by unhappy spirits of dead elves.

Suddenly, rooftops and tree canopies flashed by, revealing the path to Goldenmist Village, so quickly he almost felt sick, before awareness returned to his body in a jolt that nearly sent him back into the water.

Lisys dashed down the embankment with a squeal, catching his arm. "Negate!"

"Mmm… hm." The blue stone fell out of his hand with a heavy thump. "Are those flasks in your hands filled with blood?"

"What? … Oh, yeah," she released his arm and took a quick step back, confusion highlighting her forehead. "Are you all right? What happened to you just now?"

He waved her off reassuringly and replaced his glove. "Nothing that wasn't supposed to. Let's hasten the blood back to the apothecary, then we need to hurry back to the Ghostlands for a minute, and the sooner the better, lest I overexert myself with hatred for my worthless imp."

Reasonably assured he would be all right, Lisys scrambled back out of the scar—just in time, for a skeletal warrior was in the process of investigating their racket—and helped pull Negate up as well. The pair broke into a jog immediately, heading back toward the path.

"And then… And then we return to Silvermoon, right?" she asked sheepishly.

"Briefly, correct."

Lisys was squirming inside with nervous energy, even as she ran alongside him. "What if your sister, ah, isn't doing well… after all?"

"I don't anticipate that will be the case this time," he replied in an over-simplified tone before changing the subject quickly; in reality, it was difficult to let go, and he'd almost prefer not to at whatever cost. "I thought you couldn't kill animals?"

"It's different if they attack me first…" she answered, narrowing her eyes as an unexpected burst of sunlight assaulted the pair out of the west. Even then, the elf's hair was too dark to notice any impurities with unaided eyes. "You know… you really do look just fine."

"Compared to you, maybe."

//SET LOCATION: STORMWIND CITY

For a girl as young as Angel, the white pillars supporting the Cathedral of Light seemed infinite, as big around as ten of her and stretching up to the ceiling, an unknown stone sky that the simple candlelight could not quite reach. And yet, as impressive as they were, the great columns were only the _least _interesting feature of the massive church.

The eight-year-old's attention bounced from their stony visages to the stained glass windows to the candleholders, and then down to her feet. Beneath her worn boots, the stones were so interesting in their simplicity, a repetitive, mesmerizing pattern of green, and gray, and darker gray. She decided that the dark gray ones were somehow dangerous, and she reached her little hands up to take Leland's, so that she could pull and use her arm strength to help hop over the offensive squares.

Her tiny-fraction-of-his-weight was not an inconvenience, exactly, but did not go unnoticed either. "The fuck are you doing?"

"The dark ones are lava," Angel replied, eyebrows furrowed with concentration. "I gotta jump over them or I'll _dieeee_."

Leland snorted, lifting a dark bottle to his mouth. "Glad I could be of service."

She recognized the swishing without looking up. "It's too early to drink that stuff. Besides, you can't afford it anymore," she reminded matter-of-factly. "You have to spend all of your money on me."

"You're awfully fucking spoiled for an orphan. My _finances _are not an issue, don't worry about it." The warrior snorted and spit rudely on the plush blue carpet lining the entry on the way out, and Angel returned to walking normally.

"Ew!" she squealed, running behind his legs to the other side of him, like she expected the mucus to chase her. "If you don't like this place, then why'd we come here? _Huuuh_?"

Her care taker held his arm up, partially blocking the sunlight, so intense compared to the subtle candles and solemnity within the church. "I was hoping to catch Jibreel before she head out again."

"The red head? I like her. Is she your _giiirlfriiieend?_" she asked, skipping along beside him instead of walking.

"No. On the contrary, don't become attached. I believe she'll die soon."

She hit his hand with hers, puffing her cheeks out briefly. "Mean!"

"It's true. If you learn anything from me, learn this: Scarlet Crusaders have a high mortality rate, even worse than your average idiot paladin. Whatever you do with your life, don't join a cult."

Angel had stopped listening mid-sentence, halting to watch a high elf pass on her way to the gorgeous structure they'd just left. "Cool…"

By the time Leland noticed Angel was no longer by his side, she was out of sight, and with a growl he turned and marched back into the church, a place he _never _visited twice in one year, much less the same hour.

"Angel!" he snarled impatiently, his chain boots rattling noisily as they pounded the pavement, skipping two or three steps at once. "Damnit, child, the orphanage is right-fucking-over-there, I'll gladly drop your ass back off if--… small fucking world," Leland grumbled, leaning on a white pillar within the structure to take another drink.

The odds of meeting a high elf huntress in this area were slim; stranger still to see a high elf anything that would give Angel the time of day. But this woman went above and beyond the call of even cold politeness, holding her bow, unstrung, to the tiny, wandering fingers and allowing her inquiring eyes a peek inside her quiver. He was quick to decipher her identity.

Even kneeling he could see that she was tall for her race, with long, smooth legs on display thanks to a skirt no longer than Leland's shirt. She had more hair than he'd ever seen on anyone, thick silver, in large, braided pigtails on either side of her head. They were so long they touched the floor when she bent, partially obscuring mostly-bare shoulders. Her breasts, round for a lithe race but nothing to win a contest, were squeezed into an off-the-shoulder forest green top. Leland didn't really want to look, but somehow had the impression that he was supposed to.

Angel pointed without looking, heaving a sigh. "And that's Leland. He's taking care of me, well, _sorta."_

"Guilty as charged," Leland smiled as sincerely as he could, which wasn't at all, stepping forward to seize the child's hand. "Who's your new _friend_, Angel?"

Angel transferred her weight to the balls of her feet with a smile. "Her name's Adel. She's a ranger!"

"Ahh…" Leland bent, whispering harshly through grit teeth," I could have _sworn_ I told you not to talk to _these fucking people,"_ he hissed.

"Excuse me," the ranger spoke coldly and belligerently. "This little girl is half _these fucking people," _she reminded, placing a hand over her heart, fingers partially obscuring her cleavage, if only for a moment.

The human straightened quickly, giving her body a quick once-over before refocusing on her face. Her Common carried a thick accent, and it annoyed him so much he'd just as soon she speak Thalassian. He made the switch for her so as to drop a mighty hint. "You're excused. Look, I don't really have anyone to watch the mutt; otherwise I'd take you to an inn. I pay well if you want to meet up later, but really, should you be working in a church?" he bent to pick up the confused half-elf, lest he lose track of her again, and held her on his hip, stalking away.

Adel's mouth fell open as she followed him, fists clenched so hard she could feel her wrist flexing against her leather bracers. If he could speak her language so well, he definitely wasn't broke, but at the same time he struck her as such a low life. "I am _not _a prostitute!"

"_What are you talking 'bout_?" Angel squirmed, tugging Leland's hair.

He ignored it, drinking with his free hand. "In that case, sweetheart, your skirt is too short."

The huntress strode quickly alongside him with an ugly sneer. "It has to be short so I can run, _dick._"

"It looks like your tits are waving hello. Is that also tactical?"

"_What are you talking aboooout_?" Angel howled, tilting her head back and kicking her legs futilely.

Adel ground her teeth, close to her last nerve. "What are you, gay? If you don't like it, don't look, and listen to me for a second!"

"You're one of them Dauntlights, aren't you?" Leland asked without stopping.

"That's right," she heaved a sigh. "I believe you're holding my niece. I've been looking for her for years now."

Leland stopped in the middle of the street, turning to look down on the blonde high elf with surprise. "Are you trying to tell me you want to take her? Here!"

"What!?" Adel gasped, her eyes expanding to the size of saucers as she took a quick step back. "I have no idea what to do with a child!"

"Woman, look at me!" he ordered urgently, using his thumb to point to his chest with the bottle in his fingers, half-elf still occupying the other arm. "Do I look like I should even have a _dog_!?"

"Okay, fine!" She set her hands on her hips, leaning forward aggressively. "So what was your plan, then!?"

Leland sighed. Despite the enticing showcase of cleavage, his eyes were instead drawn to her thick, red lips every time she spoke. "I was going to look for her parents."

"You won't find them," she answered, her hands falling as she averted her eyes down to the stone street.

"…Failing that, she used to have a great aunt and uncle that should be better suited to this sort of thing. If they're dead, lucky me, it's a girl," he muttered, beginning to walk again.

Angel complained loudly, laying her face down on Leland's shoulder. "_I wanna talk to her, too_…"

"Sounds good so far," Adel agreed, pushing her heavy braids behind her head as she continued to follow him. "Where do you figure they might be?"

"Possibly Theramore," he grumbled.

"Sounds good! I'm going with you," announced Adel. "And I won't take no for an answer."

Leland laughed sarcastically. Of course she was. "May I ask _why_?"

"Because I want her to go somewhere she'll be happy. Holy light, you think that just because she's an ugly half-elf, I don't care about her? This last mission is… all I have left to live for."

"Wow, that is _so_ fucking _depressing_." With a grunt, Leland shifted the little girl on his hip. "_Cheer up, kiddo. No longer will you be lonely when I pass out at noon. Pigtails is coming with us."_

*END: CHAPTER 23*

^BEGIN: DISCUSSION^

**-Rhamana: **AW SHUCKS. I hope you continue to enjoy it. You are still enjoying it, right?

**-Escalus: **I most certainly do not! :O I'll bet you're really flakey deep inside, aren't'cha? :3 Yes, last chapter was quiiiittteee explosive. Chord = one of Ariel's victims. You might have something there ;) Hopefully you can review this one o__O That's a strange error, but I have noticed that FFnet has been acting STRANGE lately. Tea concurs.

*hearts back* you're soooh smart. :3

**-Jarnxsar: **You did not confuse ages (: Vaschel is 20 years older than Dawnn is, plenty old enough to have fathered him. (: I mislead everyone on purpose. BAHAHAHAHAHAHA!

**-Sans**: I… yes… you're welcome? I think that this is a good thing, but I'm not REALLY sure. xD Hopefully that character list will allow you to read on painlessly.

**-Tea: **Bahahaha leave it to you to be overdramatic! :3 Always full of praise you are ,33

You're right, I do this stuff JUST TO MESS WITH YOU. I always get excited to send you a chapter filled with big revelations because I know you'll freeeeeek.

Sensitive body p--.. You pervert! Where would you even pick up a phrase like that!?

Yes, she might think something like that… :O

Don't worry, answers are coming! Always. xDD

**-Umbravita: **So, with the character guide, everyone is up to speed? (: I tried to keep it as amusing as possible so it wouldn't be boring xD Hopefully all of this squealy excitement lasts :3

--------Added 4/22/2010 (Sorry, I missed a couple of things x3)

**-EMiH: **Have I replied to your comment yet? I don't think so xD Anyway THANK YOU. Saiynt and Sihner appear to have broken up, eh? XD Does it make you sad? It makes me sad. Hopefully, connections made in the future will be more meaningful now that it's easier to keep the past straight.

**-(everyone) **Yeeeeep. No idea how long the next chapter will take me. A while probably. As always, subscribe if you want to be in the know ;3

If you happened to be paging through old chapters and notice something missing, it's old author's notes. I also nixed the intermission. They took up too much space and distracted from the story unesecarily--plus they artificially inflated my word count :O I shaved off at least a couple thousand words getting rid of all A/N's except for those on like, the last five chapters. And I think I missed a chapter. Anyway, nothing in the story was edited (:

^PEACE^


	26. Chapter 24

*BEGIN: CHAPTER 24*

//SET LOCATION: NEW AVALON

"Fuck it. So what if I nevuh see 'im again? It ain't like it mattahs none in a place like'iss. The more I think abou'it, the more I realize'at if the Lich King said,_ 'Ey Mistah, I sick'a her mouf. Cut awf'er head, _he'd hafta do it. 'E keeled Jacob Andy, in't'e? An' 'e was rilly fond'a 'at gent. Er, tunning'. I'unno, the whole feelin's thing is kinda confusin' wit'im. An'oo you see me askin'? Nawh! Heyll nawh! I know, leave it alone. An' it ain' like I ain' curious, nawh, he does shit that is way tunni' confusin'. Like tunnin'at half-elf go. I mean, rilly? 'E knows ah fuckin' hate 'em people, an'ee let me keel chilt'ren once or twace, so, what'a heyll?"

A weak breeze, thick with iron from old blood long ago spilled and washed away, batted at a rotting door on a home no one would believe was brand new. A family of four, dead for days and mostly taken by maggots and flies, was stacked, body on top of body, in the hall. Someone, possibly the pitiless death knight in mid-soliloquy the next room over, had positioned the father's hands lewdly over his wife's body, despite the two dead children between them.

The intruder, rather small in stature but no less dangerous, sat back on her elbows, acid-blue hair caught in ratted masses on her plate shoulders, in which three leaves were stuck. The bone ends of her fingers drummed noisily on the floorboards as she spoke.

"Anyway! I wasn' esactly lyin', neither. I know it sounds a little cliché, but I got mah reasons! That chick an' I are similar, there ain't really no way around admittin' it. Shuh, Abby's a lot taller… an' kinda quiet, but we're both daymn tunning' mass murderuhs, an I own't think she lived past twenty-five, neither. Even Avarett Crisys said he thought 'e only gave two shits n' a fuck abou' me a'cuz he failed to protect _herrr, _an' Avarett was like, the smartest guy evuh. So, yeah, I was a little sneaky, shuh, but I cain' really be expected ta help it if he's a goddamn stud an' I own't wanna give 'im up, righ'? What'd'ya think?"

"Myeh!" spat a ghoul, a twisted creature with bluish tissues that its unkind existence could scarcely hold to its skeleton. These particular animated corpses were less pitiful than many classes of undead, brainless shells of a soul that had already moved on, but were powerfully useful in the wrong hands. As luck would have it, they were also fantastic listeners.

"Awh, Corpsegrinder… you're mah beeest frien'," Saiynt smiled warmly, motioning for the creature to approach her. With curious, beady eyes, the monster obeyed, and she wrapped it into a tight hug—a slight _too _tight, for the creature's back gave way and snapped, spelling the end of its existence. With irritation, the death knight stood, simply allowing the torso to roll off of her, extending a hand to ask the darkness for another.

In the hall, the old dead mother stirred briefly, stopped, then started again. Claws scratching at the floor, with grunts and unworldly growls, she freed herself from the bottom of the pile, so much skin and muscle tearing away that by the time she stood, her gender could no longer be determined. The struggle left a pungent smear of brown blood in the floor as it limped toward its mistress.

"Anyway… uh, Pebbleface, is it?" The death knight used a gloved hand to physically rip her ratted hair off of her shoulders. "If I'mma be completely true, I shoul' say…. I… really do miss 'im. I tried talkin' to a wall, an' whatevuh people may have tol' you, it _ain't _the same thing. But evuh since I… I… ooo…" An angry throbbing suddenly erupted in the base of her skull, subsided, then retook her as she tried to continue, signaling that she was treading dangerously close to an event, a face, a _something _that she could not be allowed to remember.

"Uhh….?" The ghoul tilted its head with curiosity, watching the mistress's body stiffen, then collapse to her knees, a powerful force seizing and releasing her muscles.

"…Augh! Na'what!?" Saiynt snarled, turning her face as her head involuntarily met with the floor, throwing her hands over her head. In the beginning, she did not have this problem. But as days went by, more and more eroded, leading to the present, where she couldn't go a full day without running into another wall inside her own head. "What's missin' now?!"

The ghoul bent its knees as she shuddered, tilting its head in the opposite direction. "Mughhh… Mommy?" it gurgled.

She raked her hands over her filthy hair, teeth bared. For a natural fighter, it was inconceivable that a foreign entity should tell her which thoughts she could or could not have. Finally, she rolled over onto her back, panting. It was a draw.

"… Why did I return to the Lich King…?" she asked the ceiling uncharacteristically quietly.

"Myeh!" blurted Pebbleface.

"…Yeah…" She exhaled hard, eyes fluttering. "Maybe Lisys knows…"

Meanwhile, high above the doomed human city from which Saiynt departed, floated the foreboding Acherus, where the source of her malcontent resided.

Abby Xanthic in particular was giving serious consideration to the notion of exterminating the smaller death knight for reasons she didn't understand, or care to, simply that Saiynt's mere existence was maddening. Her only restraint was Jaqlyn, the puppet master, who required the middle Cisneros child specifically for causation once more out of Abby's grasp.

As she mulled it over, the tall undead woman held the severed arm of a human man in her right hand. With the left, she peeled away tiny pieces of skin and muscle, rolled them between her fingers, then absent-mindedly flicked the little ball of flesh over the rail of a large, stone balcony overlooking the destruction below.

A heavy, marching set of footsteps approached her from behind, and she recognized it immediately, even after decades in the ground.

Abby leisurely poked a small bundle of muscle between her lips instead of over the edge, chewing broadly with the right side of her mouth. "Dad."

Sihner leaned against the chiseled railing beside her, closer than he would to most people. "I thought the House of Menethil was pretentious, and your heart was set on antagonizing it." The rocky quality in his voice cut through the stale, cold air, and her concentration.

"Mm? You think the Prince of Lordearon is still in there? I wonder if the Lich King's supreme rule extends past my ability to commit suicide," she thought aloud, leaning over the ledge as far as she could, leaving just over fifty percent of her body grounded, before standing back on her heels. "It would appear so… but in the end, you and I are only here because it amuses Madame Crysis."

He bared witness to her antics humorlessly. "How long have you been here?"

"A little longer than you have."

"Why didn't you say anything?"

Abby resumed picking and pulling at the disembodied limb arrogantly. "I walked right by you once or twice, and you didn't recognize me. Besides, it's weird being on the same side, isn't it?"

He nodded. She went on.

"So you remember everything now?"

"Not everything. Not yet."

She drew her lip back, attempting to clear a rubbery piece of vein that was caught between her molars. "You should be careful. The more lucid you become, the more expendable you are around here."

"I'm counting on it."

// SET LOCATION: SILVERMOON CITY

A young, chocolate-haired huntress wiped sweat off her brow and leaned leisurely over a large target set atop an easel, narrowing her eyes to focus against the bright noon sun on a set of three unfamiliar males. Another woman, likewise a ranger, propped herself against the same target right beside her friend.

"What are you looking at?" she asked, pushing red hair aside to attempt to follow her companion's gaze.

"Them," answered the brunette with a disgusted point. "You know, human paladins don't associate with warlocks, because they have at least _some integrity. _I hate everything about Blood Knights. The way they just swooped in and _saved _us poor rangers from our military status, the way they swagger like they own the place—the way they can do whatever the hell fool thing they want, and neither the light nor the city guard will stop them!" she hissed.

"Relax," soothed the redhead, shielding her eyes. "Are you talking about those three?" she asked with a point.

"Yeah. Well, the two blondes, really. Think I should say something?" asked the first woman devilishly. Without waiting for a reply from her friend, she opened her mouth to shout, but was cut off suddenly as the other woman clamped a hand right over her mouth.

"Don't you dare! Those are Rachel's brothers," the redhead growled, slowly releasing the foolish huntress's mouth as her eyes widened with realization. "If you must make trouble, wait for Champion Vranesh to walk by."

Embarrassed, the brunette assumed her bow once more and buried herself within her practice.

The small group at which they were gawking, however, didn't noticed the rangers, too enthralled with their own squabbles.

"Damnit! How many hundreds of times have I told you two not to walk on either side of me!?" Negate snarled, fingers curling. "You're worse than children! Everything, in one ear, then out the other!"

"Calm down, calm down…" Vaschel started, perpetually reaching for a flask at his hip. "As if how we walk is the end of the world? Liiiight… What the hell is your problem, anyway?"

Dawnn tilted his head down at the dark head about level with his ribs, then across it at Vaschel, then down once more. "Is it because you're short?"

"No!" Negate answered strongly on instinct, before mulling it over and retracting his response. "Not _exactly—"_

Vaschel cut him off with a deep, chesty laugh. "That's right, you're a half-foot shorter than I am! … You're even way shorter than Dawnn, and he's ten years younger than you! Ahaha! Ha! Haaah! You poor little man!"

"… It is _because _you two cannot get along, and always, _inevitably_, start sniping at one another over my head, and it's very annoying!" Negate snarled.

"I could see why that might bother you," Dawnn chuckled right along with Vaschel, despite his deepest desires to be compassionate and firmest attempts to remain serious, and in the end only sounding more insulting.

Vaschel took a deep breath, calming himself over the course of his next words. "You know… ahhh… No, you probably haven't noticed… anyway, Dawnn, Nate here is right about the same height as Phasilica when she stands up straight. When I walk around with the both of them, it's really tough to resist the urge to rest my arms on their heads, being that my arms are so large and macho."

"Of course," Dawnn rolled his eyes, but couldn't resist another laugh. "You know, his skull is a little too round, but maybe with a piece of cardboard, you could set a bottle of beer right here…" the younger blood knight set his hand atop Negate's head.

"On second thought, you two are far less annoying when you are trying to kill each other. Return to that, please," Negate huffed, waving his arms to force the imposing paladins to back away and release his head.

"Oh, come on. Don't get mad!" Vaschel whined, waving his arms right back at the short warlock. "I think it's cute that you're so small! Honestly… Here, let me kiss you. That will make it better, right?"

"What? No, get off of me!"

Dawnn walked a couple steps ahead of Negate and Vaschel as they struggled, laughing lightly until a soft voice calling out for his comrades pierced his ears from behind. He recognized it immediately as his mother's, and thinking quickly he hurried up the remaining steps, directly between Farstriders' Square and the Court of the Sun, taking a sharp left toward the Forge of Silvermoon, where the blacksmiths toiled day and night. She said she'd handle this herself—therefore, he wanted no part of this awkward conversation that was sure to ensue.

"Negate! Vaschel!" Daynha called, her voice carrying all the dread one would expect out of someone about to throw herself to the mercy of friends she'd border-line betrayed. "H- hey, guys… Wait up for just a second?"

Vaschel and Negate exchanged unhappy glances as they released one another, blatantly turning their backs to her to continue forward without even sparing a thought to where Dawnn had run off to.

"Awh, guys, don't do this to me! Look, I came to apologize…" Daynha insisted, rushing after them. She grabbed Negate's shoulder, physically stopping him. "Please? Just hear me out?"

Negate turned to face her, clearly unamused. "There's nothing to hear. I warned you—Vaschel warned you—Dawnn warned you. As far as I am concerned, that's all I owed you. How long have we known each other? Since I've existed?" he questioned rhetorically, continuing without her answer. "Phasilica is a very good friend of mine, and in such short time she's proven more reliable than you are. It's unfortunate that you can't look past petty racism. That's all that needs to be said."

Vaschel crossed his arms, watching the two impartially.

"… Nate…" Daynha frowned, a mixture of anger and hurt bringing murky tears into her eyes. "How can you say that? Light be praised, you used to watch my son, and he used to watch your sister. What history could you possibly have with _this woman?"_

"It's not just _this woman," _Negate scowled, recalling that Lisys was present at the confrontation between Phasilica and Daynha, and he wouldn't put it past Daynha to slaughter both, if she had been capable. "But there's no use explaining it to you. I'm leaving tonight, probably for a while. Good luck to you, honestly." And with that, he turned away from her again and didn't look back.

"Going where? …And with whom!?" Daynha called after him. She sighed when he did not answer.

Beside her, Vaschel cleared his throat loudly, eyebrows raised. "So… I heard you got your ass handed to you. I wonder if that's punishment enough… or should I follow him?"

"Vaschel!" she lifted her face to him quickly, her bottom lip quivering. "_Please _don't be mad… I'm just so worried about you! I can't figure out why you're so hell-bent on protecting that _witch_."

Vaschel exhaled, shaking his head. "Oh, I have no doubt in my mind that you honestly believe in your heart that you were doing the right thing."

"That's right," she nodded with a sniffle.

"Which only serves to make the whole scenario that much more offensive! Daynha," Vaschel leaned forward, likewise hurt as much as angry. "You know what happens to overconfident little paladins that get it in their head that they're the hands of fate?"

"That's not what I think!" she insisted.

He went on, "They start to think crazy things, like they get to decide whose existence is worthy and whose isn't. Then they _do_ crazy things, like… oh _gracious_, attack an innocent undead for no Lightdamn reason, or burn down Stratholme, for instance."

"Don't! Don't do that," she whimpered, unable to resist recognizing the truth behind the statement. She absolutely was overstepping boundaries, playing Goddess, when she decided Phasilica didn't deserve her unlife… but she wasn't ready to accept that she was wrong, and almost as quickly as she acknowledged her missteps, she turned around and justified them. "This isn't the same! That _bitch _helped sack this city! You know it. You were there. It's clear as day. Don't give me any of that, _it wasn't her,_ bull shit! I was there, too! I know who I saw. Vaschel, I almost lost _my arm _to that war!"

The platinum blonde rubbed his forehead, inhaling deeply to avoid choking on a hard lump in his throat. "… Daynha… I had five nieces… that didn't live past twenty," he managed quietly, shutting his eyes tight for a moment, then reopening them to stare hard at her. "I don't mean to be cruel, but I am so sick of hearing about what you _almost _lost."

Her defense fell apart, and she found herself unable to face him. Avoiding his face like the plague, she reached for his hands. He did not resist, and she slid her fingers between his, tiny in comparison. "Then… don't let go of me too, okay? I'm sorry… you're absolutely right. I've been very, very selfish. You won't have any trouble with me ever again. I promise."

Vaschel sighed, for the first time in a long time catching a glimpse of the cute tomboy neighbor girl who snuck out at night, changing out of an expensive nightgown into rags, to learn the finer points of combat. Still, he was suspicious—at any moment, a self-righteous monster of entitlement could appear in her place. He drew his hands away. "I'm leaving, too, here in a few days... We'll see how generous I feel when I come back."

"That's all I'm asking for, another chance," Daynha smiled sunnily, able to peel her face from the stone path. She took for granted that he would forgive her at this point. "But before you take off, I have a letter for you…" she thrust a hand in her pocket.

"A letter?" his ears perked, but it was too late to erase the ugly mass of aching she'd unwittingly dragged into the back of his consciousness. Gone—the greater part of his family; seven sisters, five nieces—such a waste.

"Yeah… and get this. It's from _Cevian,_" she lifted her eyebrows, producing the parchment.

He snatched it from her quickly, forehead wrinkled, and unbound the message. "… This is in Common…" he muttered with confusion.

"That is exactly what I said! I told him you wouldn't know what to do with it," Daynha laughed.

Vaschel smirked bitterly to himself as he gave the letter a once-over. He would guess that Cevian taught Negate how to write—they had the same obnoxious manner of beginning every sentence with a large, loopy character—it screamed overconfidence, even in a language he couldn't decipher. "You tried to read it, hmmm? It must be sensitive, then, if he coded it. That son-of-a-bitch is famous for thinking of everything, according to Nate…" he forced a good-natured, teasing tone, but lost all humor just as quickly.

Near the top, justified left as if with a ruler, was a string of foreign symbols he did recognize, the only two Common words he could see as having any meaning. The letter wasn't actually for him; it was instead addressed to _Phasilica Andy. _

"…I get it… he expected me to use one translator in particular," Vaschel growled.

"Huh? Am I missing something?" Daynha questioned, scratching the back of her head.

"No… If you don't mind, I need to take a walk alone for a minute," he frowned, resisting the urge to crush the letter into a ball right in front of the other knight.

"Sure… no problem…" she agreed readily, knowing it was best to give him space. "Have you seen Dawnn?"

"You just missed him," Vaschel pointed ahead. "He ran off that way, I think."

"Thanks," she beamed and skipped away in the ecstasy of the completion of a particularly troubling task.

Vaschel briefly considered asking Dawnn to read the letter, but in the end decided he didn't care what it said—he wasn't going to pass any letters from _him _to _her, _and it nearly broke a vessel in his forehead to think that Cevian had the audacity to even try. Any lingering trickles of sadness that escaped on the topic of loss were dammed up again in the face of the more immediate issue: being a very territorial man, Vaschel wanted, with a burning passion, to hit Cevian, with a closed fist, square in the nose; but present circumstances made it impossible.

Ignoring friendly waves from fellow blacksmiths, he arced left and tossed the note right into the open, fiery forge. Even watching it disintegrate completely was scarcely satisfying, but anger and jealousy were preferable to pining, anyway.

At the opposite end of the steps, leaning against the last stone wall in Farstrider's Square, Phasilica released a long sigh at the sun. She hadn't heard the entirety of the conversation, but she caught enough to know that Daynha trapped Vaschel in an unpleasant conversation, and as sincerely sorry as the little wench may have appeared to be, Phasilica had no doubt in her mind that Miss Highnoon would likely blame the entire argument on the undead and their bewitching powers, or something equally stupid, and that she would have to face the paladin again sooner or later.

"…Idiot…" she breathed, soft breezes tugging at her bun futilely. "He's too forgiving."

"I don't think someone like you would know what forgiveness really is."

The youthful but serious, soothing composition of that voice nearly made Phasilica ill. Her four-and-a-half decades of existence were riddled with mistakes that left holes in her heart filled with guilt—this particular speaker represented a deep puncture.

"… Dawnn? … Where did you come from?" she asked primly, turning her head to see the blonde leaning against the wall beside her.

"Saw you spying from up there," he nodded toward the first landing at the top of the steps. "It's not good karma. You're underhanded enough as it is—has it never occurred to you to quit while you're ahead?"

"Relax. I'm not interested in manipulating anyone," she answered, her voice never wavering, even under an intensely suspicious gaze. "I've only one more errand for your brother—then none of you are useful to me anymore. I doubt we'll ever meet again."

Dawnn chuckled sarcastically, brushing stray strands of blonde behind his shoulder. "That doesn't sound like manipulation to you? All right… it's not ideal, but I'm relieved. Your presence is bad for the whole city—most of all poor Vaschel."

Phasilica turned to face him bodily, arms crossed, jaw set. "Dawnn… I'm sorry. I mean that. But let's be honest—you're scarcely older than my youngest son. You didn't expect we'd last, did you?"

"Nope," he replied airily. "But I didn't expect you to lie to me, just because you thought Vaschel was going to die and I'd never find out—and that is what happened, isn't it?"

Her forehead wrinkled. When he put that way, it tasted like something Jaqlyn might do, and it made her shudder internally. "No…"

"I thought you might say that." Dawnn pushed himself from the wall and turned to face her as well, walking backwards. "Anyway, hurry up and get the hell out of here, hm? I'm sick of looking at you. And thanks for the lesson in basic arithmetic," he saluted her sarcastically, then turned his back to her again.

Phasilica watched him leave numbly.

Xwx

Negate pushed open Phasilica's kitchen door with a frown, surprised to see it was unlocked. He shut and locked it behind him, as he knew she preferred, then crossed the tile into her plush living room, shedding the bad mood Daynha had left him with to see Lisys and his sister sitting on the floor, playing with Tory's dolls.

He physically fought a smile. "Negatory, put those away. I don't think Lisys is interested in this sort of thing anymore."

"No!" Lisys protested so strongly that Negatory didn't even bother. The undead squirmed around on her rump to face him, the cloth obscuring her face shifting and wrinkling as she smiled. "This is _wonderful! _Trust me, my childhood was terrible. It feels good to go back once in a while! … No offence, Tory…" Lisys turned back to the spritely elf with embarrassment.

"None taken!" Negatory chirped brightly before sticking her tongue out in Negate's direction. "Nyaaah!"

Negate scowled, moving back into the kitchen to hunt for evidence as to Phasilica's location. "Brat. Try to finish up, Lisys and I are leaving for Tranquillien in less than an hour."

Tory gazed at Lisys apologetically as she began to pack away Stranglethorn Beach High Elf and her posse of admirers. "Heeey, Lisys! That's where my mom was born, back when it was still pretty. Send me a present from the area, okay? … Heeey, Lisys!" Negatory reached out, pawing at her shoulder.

"… Yeah, yeah… sure…" Lisys muttered half-heartedly. Their entire trip back to Silvermoon City, she had convinced herself she would never see these people again. Now, surrounded by a cornucopia of dolls with an impatient young woman, preparing herself to leave with the girl's more down-to-Earth sibling, she dared feel like part of them. Not even the empty mailbox waiting for her outside could cut her excitement.

*END: CHAPTER 24*

**-Escalus: **Yes. That is all that needs to be said. :D

**-Zahg: **Buffy/WoW… huh. Like CRACK you say!?!?! :3 Surely it's not that good, but thank you!

**-Nubitox: **OH GOOD. I'd hate to lose you. Get used to being surprised. I try to do it often.

**-Cristobar: **Bahahaha but you don't have a choice! :3 Hopefully this chapter will keep you fed for a while.

**-Aria: **Geee hopefully you don't disappear again! It's unfortunate, you'd have to fight me for Negate. I'm rather fond of him. Lots of people are. Dunno why, he certainly doesn't deserve it xD Angel is kind of a cutie, isn't she? It's a shame she and Negatory are far away from one another, seems like there's a match made in heaven there.

**-(everyone) **Tea helped me with this chatper. If it's awful, blame her! :3! I'm just kidding. She really did help me get started though x) And I would have been done sooner if my bf's birthday wasn't over the weekend. Next chapter they leave again, and we'll meet Phandok :O

^HAPPY MOTHER'S DAY^


	27. Chapter 25

*BEGIN CHAPTER 25*

/SET LOCATION: THE KINGDOM OF LORDAERON, 12 YEARS AGO

A dark glade briefly awoke with the blessing of starlight where a point in the sad, drizzling clouds could not contain its shine. A lone figure, using her own body as bait, stood in the dead center with an open wound in her shoulder. A hot, festering poison burbled on the surface of a small pool of blood, then sank and spread its taint into her core, passing through blood to tissue and bone, sapping her strength where she stood. Silver hair nearly melted into the like-colored illumination from the sky before it faded and a soft mist returned, sticking her pigtails close to her shoulders.

Rachel's deft but strong fingers held an arrow between her index and middle fingers, the bowstring hooked in her first knuckles. There was no wind or breeze to misdirect her shot, only the heavy moisture to weigh her down. Water lazily dripped down her nose and along the bow knock. She hadn't drawn it yet.

"I think the hardest was Vaschel," she spoke softly, her voice easily cutting the heavy air. "Just because he's a boy. Looking into those wide eyes… full of… curiosity and innocence… I told him the truth then. I told all of them the truth, as soon as they asked me, and then I watched them grow, and every year they understood the suffering we had spawned from a little more clearly… It was agony. But Vaschel… he took it the hardest."

Ariel sat against an old stump, clutching the shaft of an arrow imbedded deeply in his thigh. He could not pull it free, and it broke near the head. "Listen, Princess," he scoffed, using the nickname _princess _to save him the trouble of remembering her, or any other creature lacking the correct parts between their legs to become memorable, given name. "What if I tell you that I am genuinely very sorry for any pain I have caused you, hm? Could we put this behind us then? Every few years I run into you… it's getting old."

His voice bounced and echoed in the trees. An old instinct, a calling so ancient it had been forgotten by all but the Farstriders, turned her on the balls of her feet, and refocused her attention in the undergrowth.

"This isn't about me," she insisted firmly, unsurprised that he had heard only what he wanted. "You have caused the entire world enough anguish, and this ends tonight."

Ariel sighed softly, touching a nasty gash across his face. If he didn't tend to it soon, it would scar and potentially hinder his charisma. Normally, it was a simple thing to pin a lithe huntress and _reeducate her_ in accordance with his divine purpose, the grand task the holy light had bestowed upon him at birth to _show these little bitches their place_ in simple laymen's terms. However, Rachel was not his project.

He could always tell immediately when a woman was meant for him. Rachel was a blood relation, that was one strike against her, and he took no pleasure in overpowering tall or large creatures—in fact, the magic line seemed to have settled at approximately 5'3''. He honestly hoped that one day another man would knock her over and teach her a lesson. In the meanwhile, he had no more time to waste on her.

"Have it your way…" he growled, the very fibers of his body fizzling and disappearing into the shadows as he stood. He climbed out of his resting place and into the open darkness while the ranger tracked every crackling step. He had not accounted for any potential improvements within her craft.

She caught a glimpse of him, a hazy shape in the fine rain, drew the bow, and fired once, twice, and thrice, all true shots, in the split second before he disappeared again with an angry snarl. Sensing a new proximity she dropped the bow and drew her sword, turning wildly on her toes to face a soft, unknown noise behind her. As she spun, her wet hair tossed a smattering of water into her mark's chest, and she heard the light smacking too late.

A cheap shot at the base of her neck suspended most higher functioning and her head went limp on her shoulder, then her torso slid forward, and she was scarcely able to remain standing. A small shiv entered her back, introducing a new toxin, and then her attacker fled.

A concussive arrow in his neck slowed his movement until he pulled it free, allowing Rachel to witness his escape into the trees while she stood helpless and unable to move. She lost sight of him by the time she regained herself enough to stumble forward, blearily eyeing the black scenery. He was sprinting, and the last rustling of his heels in the brush faded away quickly while a deadly poison destroyed her from within, and a crippling poison prevented her from chasing.

Rachel collapsed in a miserable heap on the dirt. She would try to track him, but the outlook was unfavorable. The monster, long held in her heart as her responsibility to slay, remained free to hurt and corrupt as he pleased. She failed.

A great distance ahead of her, the wounded Ariel limped every step and a half as the arrow head burrowed deeper into his leg. It did not slow him down, and he had a good head start, but it made travel messy and noisy. The gash in his face was throbbing in such a way that told him it would never heal entirely, and he could never go home to Quel'Thalas—his work had made him too unpopular there—but he was just as noticeable in a human kingdom, where he spoke Common with an accent and stood out, not only as a foreigner, but ahead of the average size within his race and soon-to-be sporting a distinctive scar.

But he had advantages too—a smooth voice that everyone trusted instantly, a honed practice in deception, and he would be attractive, even with a scar that could become a sympathetic quality with the right story. This far in the wood, it wouldn't be difficult to find a lonesome individual that he could con for a safe place to hide.

A soft, muffled whine, like the cry of an overwhelmed child, caught his attention. He followed the quiet sobs, eager to secure his cover, to the east, smirking softly as the mournful whimpers were joined with a gruff baritone.

"… _Whatta'hell are you doing…?"_

His understanding of the language at a distance was minimal, complicated further by the colorful colloquialisms and mispronunciations of the uneducated. Nonetheless, it was clear enough that he could determine exactly what was happening. Ariel threw a hand over his mouth to keep from laughing out loud.

"_Keep… fuckin face down, I ain't interested in yer ugly… didn't say stop! Shit…it's soft now. Ya fucked this up on purpose, righ'? Righ'? … Stop crying… give you something… cry about… Get inside… sleep out here again? … then… inside… shit…"_

Ariel crouched in the bushes, weight on his good leg, and parted the foliage. He found himself looking into the backyard of what was once a small but prosperous farm fallen into extreme disrepair under new ownership. As far as he could tell, the only surviving means of income were a set of skinny chickens pecking idly at their old coop, rotten and infested with bugs.

An older human man carrying a few extra pounds, wearing nothing but a long, soiled nightshirt, was commanding a plain teenage girl with an angry gesture in the direction of their ancient, battered house. Ariel could not help a wrinkling of his nose, because they appeared to be related. Obnoxiously, this quaint _residence _seemed to be far enough outside of town that he could not justify passing this opportunity. Filthy, inbred hill people were not ideal friends, but he had enough material for an offer the man could not refuse—Ariel's situation could not have turned more in his favor.

The thug waited for the plain, whiney teenager to disappear inside the rickety shack before revealing himself, standing to limp right into the old, rotten garden. It took the unsightly man, who was a little drunk and deaf in one ear, some time to hear the elf approach. When he turned around, quick with anger, Ariel was already within kissing distance.

"Relax," advised the elf smoothly, exotically, and with a soft smile despite his injury.

But the human refused to be soothed so quickly. "Who the hell'r you? Getta hell off my farm!"

Ariel put real effort into keeping his expression friendly. "Then I could be forced to talk to the town executor… on the matter of this heinous crime—" he began, quickly setting his hands on the human's shoulders, sensing an impending lunge. The material of his shirt felt unwashed, even slimy beneath his fingers, and Ariel found himself further disgusted.

"I ne'er wanted no chilt'ren!" the backwoodsmen shouted, pushing and panting feebly against the elf's strong hands. "It's ma'own damn business what I do with 'em!"

"Relax!" Ariel repeated, more commanding than he meant to. "I understand completely, see… I have daughters too," he explained, releasing the other male as he felt the tension disappearing. "I need to lay low for a while… and I was thinking we could help each other, Mister…?"

"… Grind…" answered the human stupidly, taking a step back to examine the injured—but attractive—elf. He was easier on the eyes than his plain daughter, anyway, who was always bruised or broken somewhere at twice the severity. If he was asking for board, he wouldn't mind having the handsome stranger around. He rubbed his neck stubble thoughtfully, visibly shedding moisture from side to side.

"Mister Grind," Ariel repeated, curling his lips in a mixture of irritation and abhorrence. "Do you know what a ranger is?"

xwx

With the fire scarcely choking even a sputter of heat past the stone hearth, and her slackening limbs unable to keep a blanket close, the cold air woke Missus Andy with the hard shock one experiences when dozing unintentionally. She frowned down at her eyeglasses resting in the spine of an open book on her desk. She did not remember removing them, but they could not have fallen so perfectly on their own. With a sigh, she replaced them on her face.

She was exhausted. She'd only just returned hours earlier from her bimonthly visit home, and mixed emotions kept her awake. In fact, the taint of pain mixed itself up in every situation she created, in any home she laid her head, in every decision she made. In the end, nothing was perfect, she gave herself away when she traded her surname, she did not regret it, and she would gracefully swallow every bitter pill the holy light would hand her. That was her iron resolve… but it didn't help her sleep at night.

She pushed the thin wire frames up into her forehead, rubbing her eyes beneath the spectacles. It was nearing midnight, the weather was so dreary, and it only made sense to retire. She expertly unclipped, unpinned, untwirled, and unfolded her tight bun where she sat, letting the pins fall into the book, then stood to drop her gray, shapeless robes into the floor. She moved to her armoire and drew back the doors, looking for an airy nightgown to pull over her fancy lingerie when an abrupt thud at her door gave her such a start that she slammed the doors shut again with a half-yelp.

Clutching the smooth, wooden surface, she turned her head slowly, her hair unfamiliarly brushing over her shoulders, to gaze at the door, only a stone's throw away in her small, one-room cottage. All was still, so quiet, in fact, that she could hear the softest rain falling on her roof. She stepped back, gathered the gray robes back over her shoulders, and hurried across the floor to investigate. Fearlessly, she pulled the door open, and saw nothing at first, until she looked down.

Sprawled across the steps was a mess of tattered dress and wild black hair, of thin limbs and a freckled face, panting and struggling to force words between her lips.

"Lisys!" Missus Andy cried, turning back into the house to retrieve her blanket. "What are you-? What happened!"

Lisys pushed herself up onto her elbows to gaze inside the little house, pristine, immaculate, but so warm and inviting, smiling until the question sunk in, when she collapsed again, frowning, not entirely sure herself. "… I…"

The older woman returned to her instantly, wrapping the wool warmth around her wet, shivering body, in the same motion that she pulled her inside, turning her onto her back instead of her stomach. A little blood was mixed with the skinny girl's matted hair.

"You klutz," Missus Andy muttered affectionately, dropping onto the floor to hold the girl and inspect her more closely. "You hit your head on my door, didn't you?"

"… Yeah…" she answered, wrinkling her forehead. "… I heard something… outside… no, in the cellar… when I was trying to sleep…" she continued, foggily.

Missus Andy kicked the door shut with her foot, "All right."

"And it scared me so much that I… that I jumped right out the window… and I ran… but I ran too hard, and I got tired… and I hurt, so… I came here," the young woman finished finally, her breath slowing, but becoming shaky and ragged instead.

"Aren't you a little old to believe in monsters?" questioned her elder, unable to part her messy hair.

Initially, Missus Andy regarded the poor farm girl snottily—she saw most of this town that way, and would have abandoned it immediately if it were not the perfect distance from her family in Brill—but she maintained the same polite front she would for anyone. That was four years ago. Within the first six months of Missus Andy's stay, Lisys's childlike innocence, clumsy shyness, or that they looked eerily similar when the girl was clean—perhaps a combination of all three—broke through the socioeconomic barrier.

"…Yes…" Lisys admitted, curling her fingers in the fine, gray cloth with a pleading whimper. "Can I stay here, just for now? I don't feel good…"

"You don't feel _well_," Missus Andy corrected, standing slowly, taking Lisys's thin wrists in her fingers. "Come on… Let's put you to bed. Where is your fiancé?"

Lisys puffed her cheeks out, tugging the lithe woman's arms to pull herself to a stand with a half whimper, and limp like a broken animal into bed. "I think… he went to town."

The priestess had her own opinion of Oliver and his frequent trips to town, but kept them to herself. "You poor thing… how far do you think you ran?"

"As far as I could, and I think… I think I got lost. And then, then I ran all the way to here," she explained, unaware that she was mostly repeating herself.

Missus Andy left her wrapped in the blanket as she helped her into bed and covered her with the comforter, then climbed over to lie beside her, pausing only to set her glasses on the nightstand. "I see. Try to relax, dear, and you'll see how silly you were in the morning," she mumbled, idly petting the girl's side. The action created a sort of calm in her own heart, like which she hadn't felt in a long while, and she nodded off for a strange stretch of time that felt infinite and comforting, rising out of a happiness she wasn't sure she deserved.

The priestess woke slowly, lazily noting that the soft pitter-patter of the sprinkling rain had stopped, and instead was replaced with a muffled whispering. She yawned and attempted to decipher the gibberish groggily, rubbing her eyes with confusion. "Lisys… babe… are you talking to me?"

"…Yeah…" Lisys answered distantly. "Missus Andy…? Haven't you ever felt like, uh… like you were above yourself?"

Missus Andy closed her eyes. "Honey, it's late, and I have no idea what you mean… Just try to sleep, okay?"

The young woman was undaunted. "I mean… like… you aren't you anymore… yer… excuse me… hah, _you're _not in your own body… you're a ghost… floating above the bed, or… standing back and watching…" the bed shook lightly as she gestured with her hands to the darkness.

Missus Andy wrinkled her forehead and parted her eyelids again, but Lisys went on without prompting.

"…watching them do whatever they want… to someone else, except… you know it's you?" She shifted and fidgeted in an awkward position that caused her to interrupt herself with a sharp cry, but she continued mumbling before her companion could ask what was the matter. "I don't like it… even if Oliver touches me… it's like… being forced… out… of my own… body…"

The priestess pushed herself upon her elbows, watching the girl fall silent and quiver. With curiosity, Missus Andy gently pawed at her shoulder, rolling the youth onto her back. Lisys cringed and relaxed again, her chest rising and falling quickly. Her eyes were dim and hazy, with a piece of hair stuck to her right eyelashes. Something was amiss.

"Close your eyes," requested the matron, smoothing the matted locks away from the adolescent's face, then sliding the lids shut for her. Missus Andy bent forward then, pressing her lips to the forehead for a short few seconds before drawing away with a start. "… Lisys… Do you still feel ill?"

Lisys's eyes remained shut, but her bottom lip shook and tears boiled out of their ducts. "My leg really hurts…!" she wailed coherently.

The woman climbed to an urgent stand, throwing the comforter to the footboard and unwrapping the wool afghan with a force that made the girl whimper and writhe, but she did not squirm away. Missus Andy knelt near the end of the bed, picking through the tattered ends of her dress to examine her shins. Even in the dim light, she did not have to look hard—the right leg was swollen to deformation, with a dark pattern of bruising and pockets of pus weaving and swirling with no real organization.

The lady fell back a moment, clamping a hand over her mouth. How had she missed this? Was the leg that swollen when she had helped her young friend inside?

She knew instantly that she was looking at some type of infection. The fever and unintelligible mumbling was enough to convince her that this was beyond a simple, instant _renew _and a little rest. She needed to take her to a real physician—unfortunately, where the most common ailments were fixed with a quick visit to a priest or paladin, rest, or prevention, physicians who reset bones and looked after _natural_ illnesses were few and far between. She only knew of one who would see her young friend at this hour, but who lived far away, just outside of the City of Lordaeron, Lisys couldn't walk, and Missus Andy wasn't excited to see the old witch anyway.

It couldn't be helped.

Standing, the matron pulled the comforter up again, to Lisys's neck, and rubbed her shoulder softly. "I'm going to find someone to help me get you to a doctor, okay? You have to stay laying down."

"You don't have a cellar…" Lisys mumbled, as if that should be confirmation enough, and pulled the blankets over her head feebly, still shivering.

Missus Andy stepped into small boots and grabbed her coat on the way out the door, heading first toward the center of the tiny town, thinking to wake Oliver, before it occurred to her that Lisys had already told her he was gone. With an angry snarl she turned around and passed her house again in the opposite direction, jogging lightly until the road ended and she was forced to slow her pace, lest the mud claim her boots.

When the Grinds' rickety farmhouse came into view, the priestess sighed in relief; for the entire journey, she was not certain she recalled its location, except that it was far back, near the mountains. With determination, she knocked heavily on the door. No answer. She tried again. No luck. Not to be deterred, and knowing the lock had long rotted away, she shoved the door open and stepped inside.

There was no fire, nor candle in the entire space, and the roof was leaking in multiple locations. She tried to adjust, but the total darkness in the creaky old place held not a single ray of light for her expanding irises to adjust to, and she had left her glasses in her haste. If that wasn't enough, the wet floor begged her to slip every step. She took a deep breath and extended her arms, venturing into the bleak abyss.

In that kind of dreary old home, seconds ticked slowly, like full minutes, and every soft exhale of the west wind sent the decaying wood into a painful song of grumbles and creaks. At times, she heard a more pronounced melody, like footsteps, or rummaging, or even coughing, that she would have placed in the cellar. As a responsible adult, she was quick to explain it away as her own foolish over-analysis, but she understood completely how the moaning dark could inspire nostalgic, childish fears in someone else.

Finally she reached the master bedroom, or at least a closed door with the clear symphony of snores behind it, and knocked impatiently.

"Mister Grind!"

_No answer._

"Mister Grind!" she repeated, frustration mounting. Without hesitation she shoved the door open and stepped forward, encountering what she believed was a mattress on the floor and unattractive, bulbous shape of Denton Grind. Like Oliver, she had a very concise opinion of this man, but he was Lisys's father, and so she kept her mouth shut. Besides, Lisys disliked speaking of him furiously.

Missus Andy took a deep breath, bit the bullet, and set her hands on the man's sweaty shoulder. As he continued to snore, she shook him so furiously she threw herself off balance with a sharp cry. She lie there, flat on her back frowning for several moments, as more sounds of stirring below disheartened her briefly. It was evident that the tiny house was unlivable, and if Lisys hadn't a marriage to look forward to, she'd have the young woman living with her instead.

She lifted her head and set her foot on the man's back, pushing and kicking. "Wake up! … Your daughter is _dying, _idiot!" she shouted, propelling herself back a short distance instead of pushing his much larger body. As she slid a few inches across the floor, her shoulder knocked a bottle into another bottle, and her head fell back again. _Of course._

She left in a hurry.

xwx

On the outskirts of Brill, in a large, richly decorated house, a nineteen-year-old boy that society generally mistook for being in his mid-twenties, in part for his build and in part an impressive 5'o'clock shadow, leaned back on a plush couch, his muddy boots on the expensive table before him, with his hands behind his head.

A young lady of similar age and who was similarly mistaken, in part for her build, and in part for her makeup, tossed her blonde hair over her shoulder so that she could easily climb towards him, straddle his legs, and situate herself comfortably.

"I'm nervous," she giggled, fidgeting sensually and on purpose. "I've never done this sober before."

"Relax, babe, I'm drunk enough for both of us," answered the male romantically, sliding his arms around her thin waist.

"You're so _funny," _she squealed, setting her hands on his shoulders to lean forward and press their lips together. Their noses had scarcely brushed when the near-by front door exploded open and she instead buried her face in his shoulder with a scream.

"What the f-? Weren't you just here?" the male questioned through squinted eyes, rubbing the scared teen's back.

Phasilica Andy stepped through the door with purpose, shedding her coat, cheeks rosy with the lengthy jog into town. Her mouth fell open as the boy's voice drew her attention to the scene on her couch, before her teeth clicked shut and her lips turned down into a frown. She strode toward the pair and seized a handful of the young lady's blonde hair and physically pulled her onto the floor as she struggled, whimpering and batting at the hand.

The boy leaned forward, his unkempt, dark hair falling into his eyes. "Awh, hey… heeeey… that's not necessary at all."

"Harlot!" Missus Andy shouted, lightly pushing the girl's form with her foot as she struggled to her feet. "Out! Get out of my house!"

"I'm _going_!" she whined, straightening her clothing.

"And shut the door behind you!" the matron added with a disgusted snarl. The door closed, and the priestess turned to the boy on her couch, preparing for a lengthy lecture which she admittedly did not have time for. She raised her index finger and opened her mouth to shout, but only sighed and closed it, turning away.

"We'll talk about this later," she exhaled, gathering her robes to hurry up the stairs. The boy followed her.

"Fine… what the hell are you doing back here already?"

She didn't answer, striding quickly down the hall to the master bedroom at the end of the hall. Pushing the door open, she stepped inside and to the empty, large bed, where her frown deepened.

"Where's Jacob?"

The male laughed, because it was so ridiculous, he didn't expect he should have to answer. "Dad's at _work._"

"Ragh! You've got to be kidding me!" She hissed, throwing her fist down on the expensive pillow, where she knew her husband would sleep… when he did. "Useless!"

"Well, least he lives here," the boy chuckled behind her.

Missus Andy turned around suddenly, as if something very sudden had occurred to her. "Where's your brother!"

"Hoooly Light, you are a _terrible _mother," he continued laughing lightly, digging for a flask in a side pocket in his pants specially tailored for that exact purpose. "Where are little kids usually at this hour? He's down the hall, _sleeping._"

"Then where is the baby-sitter!" she demanded, closing the distance between them quickly.

"You just called her a harlot and threw her out."

"Ohhh…" the priestess put her hands on her face, taking a deep breath. "Leland, you're killing me… I suppose Jacob took his horse?"

"Sure did."

She attempted to rub the fine lines of fatigue away, then sighed and brushed past him, hurrying to the other end of the hall. "Follow me."

Leland obeyed, boots tracking mud with every step. "You haven't told me why you're here."

"I need a favor," she answered, pushing open another oak door at the opposite end of the hall.

Within, a much younger boy, just nearing his tenth year, sprang to a sit quickly, then relaxed again with drowsiness. His hair was dark and shapeless with random spikes and points, so that he looked very much like his brother with a haircut, but his eyes were such a clear, crystalline blue that they were nearly visible half-lidded and in the dark.

While Leland lingered behind, in the doorway, Missus Andy entered and knelt beside the bed, setting her hand over the small boy's with the utmost affection. "Mason, sweetie, the babysitter had to go home."

"…Huh…?" he asked, rubbing his eyes with his free hand. "Phasilica?" he thought he recalled that she left earlier in the day, and wouldn't be back until the weekend after next, as was the usual protocol, ever since he was much younger.

"Mmhm," she rose onto her knees, pressing a brief kiss to his forehead. "The babysitter had to leave early, and Leland and I have to run an errand. If you need anything, Auntie Maria is just down the street, okay? When we're done, I'll come back and read you that beastly story about that stupid paladin before I leave," she teased, smoothing his unruly hair.

He sleepily eyed the storybook to which she was referring on his shelf next to a wooden practice sword before nodding with a smile.

"Good night." She pushed him back into bed and drew the blankets over his shoulders, tucking them around him, until he became irritated with the maternal attention, as boys entering that age do, and squirmed away. She stood and headed back toward the hall.

Leland shifted aside to allow her passage, shutting the door behind her. "You mentioned a favor?"

"I did." She sighed, smoothing her own hair. It felt especially strange to walk around in public with it down. "I need you to carry a little sick girl all the way to the City of Lordaeron for me. Think you're up for it?"

"How little are we talking?" he asked, wrinkling his nose as he followed her down the stairs.

"I don't think she's ever eaten a decent meal, but she's only a year older than you are, I think."

For a brief moment, Leland was intrigued. "Is she good-looking?"

"No," the matron frowned sternly, answering more to the hidden question between his words than the actual question he asked.

"Then… I am not interested," he scoffed, following her down the stairs.

She halted on the last stair and turned quickly to face him, all emotion deadening in her face. In some ways, she was shocked and appalled that she would have to resort to bargaining with him, just because he'd grown in her heart instead of her belly.

Missus Andy would have traded the world for the ability to freely ask Leland for a simple favor, and vice-versa, just because she loved him, and she, nearly still a child herself, held his hands through his first unsteady steps, and was there for every lost tooth, and if nothing else, if he absolutely could not see her as his mother, they were still blood-related. Instead, even the most basic of pleasantries were met with sarcasm, if not open hostility, and it occurred to her that she was foolish to even ask him. With all the animosity between herself and his father, she almost couldn't blame him.

Then, with such a shocking twist that divine intervention could have been the only culprit, her luck shifted. Her step-son rolled his eyes and pushed past her, striding toward the door. "I am kidding. Let's go."

"…Honestly?" she asked, hurrying after him.

"Yeah. She's what, sick, right? I was always sick. And you were like, ten months pregnant or something. I owe you."

The lady wrestled her coat back around her shoulders. "Thank you… thank you…"

xwx

Lisys awoke with a snap and a shout, her hand flying to her chest. The ceiling was high and the bed underneath her was pillow-soft, nothing was warm, and everything was unfamiliar. Something was wet in her fingers, and nearing panic, she raised her hand straight out, in front of her face, to find blurry smudges of blood underneath her nails.

"You scratched my grandson on the way here," informed a cold, hard voice beside her.

Lisys struggled to a sit, where she felt a wave of sweat roll down her face. She felt hot and cold all over at the same time, and a lithe woman with a dark, tight bun was near her ugly, swollen right leg with a small knife.

"M- Missus Andy!" she pleaded, chest heaving.

"No, Missus Crysis," the lady corrected, turning a hard, cool gaze onto the dirty farm girl. "Missus Andy is my daughter. You have an infected fracture in your leg, so she brought you to me. I've studied all medical sciences for years. You're in good hands, dear."

Lisys was barely able to comprehend the words, but she nodded stiffly anyway, and looked around the room with softening rasps.

"Can you sit up for me, dear?" she questioned, tapping the girl's good leg. Finding that she was too weak to move, Lisys simply did not answer her, and the refined lady sat Lisys up for her with careful, cold hands.

"You know, girl," everything the woman said was so even as she pushed Lisys's arms and legs into place, mindful of the injury, that Lisys was reminded of Missus Andy, if one could strip away the small affectionate inflections in her mannerisms that she could show when they were alone, leaving her with absolutely nothing in the ways of human emotion. "My husband believed in fate. He could go on and on about what was _meant to be_, of course, before he died a short while ago."

Lisys tilted her head back for the woman to check her temperature, and peek inside her eyelids, replying, robotically, "I'm sorry… to hear that… ma'am."

"Why? I wasn't," Missus Crysis countered pointedly, and with a shred of humor. "Honestly, I thought he was foolish. Still… I can't help but wonder, in cases like this, if there was some truth to it. What sort of fantastic chain of events could have brought you to me, little girl? It's too amazing to be coincidence. Now, I have to drain some of the bile out of your leg, dear, and it might hurt a little. I find that my patients are best kept calm during uncomfortable procedures with stories… would you like to hear a story, little girl?"

"…Yeah…" she answered, scarcely knowing the question. A sudden flash of heat made her ears ring, and she thought for a moment that she would lose consciousness again. Strangely, she felt instantly better, instead of a sharp pain, when the lady cut into her leg.

"I'm actually older than I look," she began, and, with a brief glance down, Lisys was vaguely aware that the physician was smiling, "Ah-ah-ah! A real lady never, ever reveals her age. Anyway, I have spent a great deal of my life working to create the perfect monster. It should be moderately intelligent, but very destructive, and it will only exist to hurt and consume. I would like to keep it as a sort of pet, you see, because I am _insatiable_, and even with all the gold I could ask for, my power does not extend far enough. I don't expect a simpleton to understand, just nod your head and say_ yes ma'am, _please."

Lisys tilted her head back to bring it forward again in a limp nod, her eyes expanding suddenly, from slits to the size of dinner plates, to see the far corner, where her beloved Missus Andy lie on the floor, collapsed in a heap.

"Wher-! M- Missus Andy!" she shouted, fighting her oppressive lethargy with every ounce of strength in her body.

Missus Crysis turned her head a moment with a sneer, but smoothed her features before facing Lisys again. "Shhh, relax. I asked my silly daughter to leave us alone for a moment, but she refused, so I…" her nose twitched with another mean-spirited smirk, "You see, the girl is squeamish, and she fainted as soon as I uncovered your leg."

Nearly sober, the skinny girl fell forward a fraction, frowning down at the painted, done-up lady kneeling in front of her. On pure instinct, for she could not make out all of the woman's features clearly, she felt she was looking at a born liar.

"Did you know she had a sister? They were twins," Missus Crysis asked, turning her eyes back to Lisys's leg to create another fine incision. "My other daughter's name was Angelina. Do you remember her?"

Lisys squirmed uncomfortably, eyebrows knitting together. She wasn't sure if her fever had driven her mad, or if the lady in front of her was mad. "… Remember? … Why would I…?"

"Angelina was very fond of charity work. She used to play with your mother because your family is so poor… She probably played with you when you were a baby. It's no wonder you gravitated to the same face later on… The first hands to touch you with pure intentions… and probably among the few throughout your entire life," the madam paused there to laugh wickedly, the sort of delighted cackle that only echoes from the depths of a true sociopath who rejoices in the pain of others, especially where it serves their own selfish purposes.

"Anyhow," she went on before Lisys could interrupt, "I needed a dead human to make my monster, someone who suffered their entire existence through. I always imagined my dead human would be male… I'm not entirely sure why… I suppose that when a woman thinks of a monster, it is natural for her to think of it as male, but you should know it better than any girl, hm? So I started looking for a little boy to torment. My daughters were the last children I could bear, and I eliminated this and that family for one reason or another, until I settled on my husband's friend, Mister Cisneros."

Lisys narrowed her eyes, almost certain she was in the middle of a fever-induced dream. The woman talked so lightly about playing with another's life. She couldn't be real.

"So I slaughtered him ritualistically and replaced his soul with a loyal sport from the depths of hell and sent him home to do my work. I thought I could pressure his wife into adopting a grubby orphan, but it turns out that she was already pregnant and my plans fell apart hilariously," she covered her mouth daintily with another giggle, ignoring Lisys's gasps of fear and confusion, before returning to work. "Long story short, they ended up with a little girl… eventually… who is angry and will be plenty useful one day, but not exactly the kind of monster I wanted…"

Hot tears spilled out of Lisys's wide eyes and mixed with cold sweat. "M- Ma'am? I d- don't l- like this story…"

"But I'm almost done, and we're getting to the best part," Missus Crysis chuckled, abandoning careful form to make a deep, long slash across the swollen shin. With a last, sudden sob, Lisys fell into obedient silence, and the lady continued. "It never once occurred to me that a girl could ever hold potential as my horrible monster until I found Angelina crying one day because her pathetic hill-person-friend had committed suicide. Haha! Can you believe it, little girl?"

"N- no, m- ma'am," the little girl wheezed, trying to will herself awake with all of her might. Even with the blinding pain in her leg, she could not bear to part with the notion that this entire ordeal was all a dream.

"_Lisys: _what an awful name for a girl. Do you know what it means?"

"Y- Yes, m- ma'am."

"A _lysis _is a medical term, it describes the slow regression of a disease. Doesn't that sound _sooo_ unpleasant?" Missus Crysis giggled, dropping the bloody, puss-covered scalpel to begin wrapping the shin in bandages. "Tell me why a mother would give you a name like that."

"Because, because she d- didn't th~ink," Lisys began, her breath heaving midsentence with hiccup-like interruptions, salty tears landing in her mouth as she spoke, "that sh- she could h- have ch~ildren, a- and she wanted one, sss… so… she thought… her life… w- would g- get better… after she had me…" the end of the sentence was nearly lost in the choking of sorrow.

"You're leaving some things out." The lady did the bandages up too tight, but Lisys could not bring herself to complain. "She didn't think she could get pregnant because you are filthy, inbred hill people, and she wanted to have a baby to take that vile man's attention off of herself."

The filthy, inbred hill person covered her face with both hands, her shoulders shaking uncontrollably. How? How could this stranger know…?

"When it didn't work," Missus Crysis raised her voice, talking over Lisys's agony, "she took the easy way out and abandoned you for the wolf," she laughed, tossing her head back, almost as wildly as the dirty farm girl was bawling. "I'll let you end the story, dear!" she rose to her feet by clutching Lisys's thighs, using them as support to stand. "You wouldn't make as great a monster as your mother, but I'll let you pick, anyway!" she was nearly shouting, out of necessity, until her pearl-perfect teeth lined even with the small girl's nose, and she reduced her voice to the harshest whisper. "Do you want to be my monster? … Or will you tell me where I can find Nadia's body?"

*END CHAPTER 25*

**(everyone): **I hope you weren't looking forward to me brightening your day with a happy chapter full of… happy. xD Because you didn't get it. But it's over now. Shhh, relax. Uhh sorry it took so long.

**Aria: **I did make her wear a dress. You saw it. xP You should relax, Dawnn is going to be mean to Phasilica for a long time xD

**Escalus: **Well, there's one more whole chapter that has to be dedicated to the past on top of the little snippets. I've considered writing a quick summary of everything in chronological order before. But I doubt you guys are that lucky. Take notes. :O xD there are lots of pictures on my bf's deviantart. He's working on a s00per cyoot one right now.

And yus, I can totally hear Saiynt talking in my head XD Uhhh that sounded bad x(

**K005: **THANKS! –bl00sh-

Some of them do have professions that have already been mentioned, in fact (: Dawnn is a miner-engineer and Vaschel is a miner-blacksmith (which I don't believe I did mention, actually)

Phasilica was a tailor-herbalist, but she might pick something else up in place of herbalism. (: If Lisys were to pick something up, it'd probably be skinning-leatherworking.

Negate, in an earlier chapter, when asked about how he supported he and his sister, talked about doing odd jobs, everything from waiting tables to picking flowers. So. xD Interpeteret that however you want.


	28. x ANNOUNCEMENT

SOOO, FF is making me angry. It's in general not very interactive, and I like to interact with you people. Plus, two slashes in a row are no longer allowed. /SET LOCATION doesn't look right. It requires two D It's also difficult to post fanart pictures for you );

I decided I'd post this on dA (that's deviantart, for you people who are in the know) However, going through the old chapters has told me that my writing has improved x100 since I started this… Geeze, a year ago? So, I've also decided I will edit and revise… again. Unlike the last mass edit I did (which was last year, I think), which was solely about grammar, this edit WILL change some content.

Do you HAVE to read the entire thing again? No. The edits won't be so phenomenal that you won't understand future chapters, however, I do recommend it, because some things are being changed.

I edit a chapter a weekend, send it to my editor (the lovely Tearle ;] ) and then I post it on dA. Once all old chapters are revised (up to, jeeze, like, chapter 20 I think) I will replace FF's content. If you want to wait a couple months for me to reupload here, THEN go back and read, you are welcome to, alternatively you can keep up with a one-chapter-a-week on dA. Or, you don't have to go back at all. It's up to you, but I recommend it (:

Once I'm all caught up, I will start on chapter 26, and going forward, I will post chapters on both dA and FFnet, so if you don't like dA, it will still be available here. In the meantime, this is sort of on hiatus, but not :P

/SET LOCATION: DEVIANT ART

If you're interested in keeping up with the revisions on da, here is the link you'll need to type into your browser:

H T T P [COLON] [SLASH] [SLASH]

zombie-sue [DOT] deviantart [DOT] com/gallery/#/d2nhm0d

Without spaces, of course.

Sorry it's a bit tough to follow, but that's the way it has to be due to FFnet's restrictions on posting URLs. Don't get me wrong, dA has plenty of draw backs either… no site is perfect. (:

Thanks for understanding (;


	29. CHAPTER 26

^A/N^

Just read and enjoy this chapter. Save your confusion for the end, where I promise I will answer your questions.

*BEGIN: CHAPTER 26*

/SET LOCATION: TIRISFAL GLADES, 20 YEARS AGO

Misery and sweat seeped out of every pore as Missus Andy moved dead, moist wood. She could scarcely carry more than two logs, and the wood pile was far from her little house. Wet, rotting pieces lodged themselves under her nails, forming tiny, painful silvers in her skin.

At her rightful home, she had servants to do this for her. But it was not worth returning to her husband. Every other weekend was about all she could stand.

The sun was setting a ways up the hill behind a small, failing farmhouse where Lisys lived with her father. Taking a short rest, the priestess admired the light glinting off of broken windows as she wondered how the girl was faring. Thus far, Lisys was recovering well from her small fracture given her lack of resources, but had largely kept to herself in that old, lonely house, and the matron did not like it.

Interrupting her musing, an eerie, silver blur flashed by her left and she spun wildly around, gasping sharply as she found herself face to face with a tall, muscular elf. Had she not been looking at him head-on, staring right at a long, scaring cut across his face, she might have mistook him for Vaschel.

The confusion was mutual. He narrowed his eyes at her, whispered her mother's name, then realized his mistake. Missus Andy almost screamed just before he took a quick step forward and clamped a hand over her mouth.

Fingers almost wrapped around her head, she felt like he could break her neck. For a moment, she thought he would. He forced her head back and leaned over her face for a tense moment, wet his lips to speak, then paused in lieu of approaching footsteps.

"Say anything," he snarled in heavily accented common, "and I will kill you." He then shoved her back, hard, sending her flat on her behind, and disappeared.

Whimpering, Missus Andy remain where she sat, wondering if perhaps she hadn't gone crazy, as Lisys limped toward her, her hated father close behind.

"Missus Andy! Don't try to pick so much up at once—you want me to help you?" she fussed, offering an arm to help her stand.

The priestess took it gratefully, frowning at her muddied robes. "No, no, dear, I can do it... Lisys, have you ever seen an elf before?"

The girl helped dust her friend's clothing, frowning. "... No... Why?"

"A'curse not!" spat Denton, only a short distance away. "Ain't no fuggin' elves here... Lisys, get'cher ass back in the house! You helped her up, 'ummon!"

"I have to go—be careful, okay?" Lisys turned abruptly and hurried away, while Missus Andy wondered if perhaps Denton wasn't knowingly harboring a fugitive.

A short jaunt up the hill, Ariel caught his breath against a stone fence as his expected visitor arrived, almost floating above the soggy ground with a certain forced elegance and, much to his surprise, a shovel. He ignored it.

"Jaqlyn," he growled, straightening his back. "You have to get me out of here—I can't stand these lightdamn hill people anymore."

"So you're not still mad at me for sending assassins after you _aaall _those years ago?" To his releif, she smiled. "Of course, my dear, you can leave this place tonight under one condition... I need you to carry a dead child for me."

/SET LOCATION: TRANQUILLIEN, PRESENT

Negate pulled at clasps and ties to loosen his robes, finally pulling them over his head and letting them fall to the floor. Generally, he would have insisted on folding them neatly and tucking them away on a clean surface; however, not one existed in Tranquillien. Fanning himself, he sat on a broken two-by-four. "Keep going, I'm listening."

"Oh, w- well," Lisys shifted shyly, realizing she'd lost her place. Her foot hit a rusted, dinged old sabre in front of her, and she refocused her attention on it, trying to line it perfectly perpendicular to her legs instead of looking at Negate. "I was saying... oh, to answer your question, I think there is a lot more variation. If you look at Phasilica, I would say she would be thought of as _thin_, and I would be average, you know? Sort of in the middle. Saiynt borders on ridiculous, but I think my mother-in-law's were out to _here," _Lisys held her hands out ahead of her chest, nearly a full arms' length away.

Negate leaned forward, eyes wide. "Honestly? Now that's just excessive...!"

A short distance behind her the voidwalker Phandok loomed quietly in the shadows, a mountainous mass of navy and purple energy floating obediently out of the way. Neither paid him any mind until he was needed.

She put her palms on the ground behind her, nodding with a giggle. "Mmhm, honestly. They were almost annoying to look at... or at least, I thought so. Of course, men seem to think the bigger the better."

"Sure, humans, maybe," Negate rolled his eyes. "That sounds like the stupid sort of thing they'd like."

"But I suppose you're above that?" Lisys smiled to herself underneath a handkerchief, turning the dull tip of the blade a half a degree with her boot, then pushing it back.

"Of course! Visibility and accessibility, that's all that matters," Negate smirked, unsticking a loose piece of hair from his face and threading it behind his ear. "But if humans like busty, what were they always chasing our women for? Elves tend to run the lither side of the gamut."

"I guess I couldn't tell'ya, er, you," she corrected. "Maybe just because they're different? Your people are so elegant, too, and... mysterious. And not all men cared, of course... just the loudest ones." Because the sword was curved, she could never be quite satisfied with the way it lined up in relation to her feet, and so she drew her knees to her chest, leaving it be for the moment, and tilted her head up to peer shyly at Negate over leather straps. "... want to... to go again?"

Negate rubbed sweat off of his forehead, chuckling lightly. "I knew you were going to ask. Don't you ever get tired? You're killing me."

"Last one, I promise!" she squirmed with mounting excitement.

"Okay, last round," he agreed, standing. He picked a damaged sword off of the ground, largely similar to the sabre at Lisys's feet, and slid into the standard position like second nature; right foot forward, toes forward, left foot back, toes to the right.

Lisys sprung up and seized her own weapon, taking a moment to copy his stance. "Did I lose last time?"

"Without someone keeping score, it's nearly impossible to make that call—here, hold it out a little further from your torso—but if I had to venture a guess, I'd say so. Try to think of it this way—the sport is meant to mirror real combat as much as possible, even if we're not really supposed to hurt one another. Any time I attack you, you're obligated to block it, or you won't receive a point, even if—"

"You two there! Travelers!" a demanding female voice bit through the dense, lightly-plagued air in the open, gazebo-style roof of the Tranquillien Inn. They turned to the north opening where a magister peeked around the mossy, cracking wall. Blonde hair framed an impatient face that softened once recognized.

"Yes?" Negate questioned her with disproportionate rudeness.

"Excuse my interruption," she began, stiffly polite, "but I could use help with my research. It's not a delicate task, and you've proven yourselves—do you mind?"

Lisys lowered her sword, looking at Negate.

"At this time of night?" the warlock scoffed, but dropped the ill-fated blade and stepped forward with interest anyway. "I suppose. What is it?"

Magistrix Aminel turned, facing west, toward the Dead Scar. "Many an advantage can be gained from getting to know your enemy. Take that lesson to heart. The more we learn about the Scourge, the better prepared we are to defeat them."

Lisys turned to follow the woman's gaze, instead catching a face full of voidwalker. Startled, she jumped, then shifted closer to Negate.

"The dark energy that flows through the bodies of reanimated skeletons tends to accumulate primarily in their spine. I've discovered a method of instilling this energy into a potion that boosts our magical abilities against the undead. Bring some to me, and I will be happy to provide you with a sample," Aminel finished.

"Fine," Negate answered very simply, turning for the downward spiraling ramp without so much as a gesture to either woman. Lisys scurried after, and Phandok followed behind her.

"We didn't even ask how many she needed," Lisys reminded over his shoulder with some confusion.

"She'll get as many as we give her," Negate lifted an eyebrow. Together their feet hit the stone path below the building as they passed Master Chef Mouldier, perpetually busied with feeding what little troops they had with what little rations he could muster. Negate nodded to him politely.

"You must not like her," Lisys surmised. "Did I miss something?"

"No, not really," Negate shook his head. "She was friends with my fiancée a long, long time ago."

Lisys stopped suddenly, body stiffening. Phandok's hazy, purple visage passed right through her, trailing his master. "Your... fiancée? You... you never mentioned that you were engaged!"

"Really?" Negate appeared thoughtful, smoothing his goatee. "I could have sworn that I had."

"You said that you were involved, but never..." she caught up again, jogging down the hill leading out of Tranquillien.

"Sorry. Adel—that's her—and I were very off and on. When she died, we were off. I usually call her my fiancee, because I imagine she would do the same for me if our, ah, situations were reversed, but not always. Sometimes I refer to her as an old girlfriend. Stay close to me, okay? You'd be half-eaten by a Scourgebat before I found you out here," he turned to her pointedly, lifting an eyebrow.

Feeling as if she had intruded on something very important, even though she hadn't and he spoke freely, Lisys hung her head. "I'm sorry... You probably don't like to talk about this."

The navy-blue sky exhausted its last breath of cerulean just as Negate and Lisys passed the last functioning arcane lantern outside of the crumbled village. The warlock withdrew his wand, holding it casually in his fist, and its pale green glow illuminated the rough stone.

"That's not it at all," he smiled to himself, honestly pleased by his memories. "It's impossible to avoid thinking about lost loved ones—and unhealthy. As it happens, she was a very skilled fencer. She could have made better practice for you if she would have liked you."

"You don't think she would have liked me?" Lisys ventured cautiously, brow ridges knitting above her nose.

"I _know _she wouldn't have liked you," Negate scoffed. "Anyhow, I'm not sure that the Magistrix recognizes—or even remembers—me. So don't say anything, all right?"

Lisys didn't answer, instead squinting her eyes up a jagged hill on her left where sat a wicked stone temple, largely shrouded in blackness, except its roof, from which extended four stony claws constructed with magical properties as to hold a giant mana crystal. Wispy tendrils of ghost-blue circled the heavy magic stone, and somehow its eerie light failed to illuminate the zuggrat below. The unholy structure threw a lamenting howling sound, as if the wind were whipping through its whistling halls; however, all was still.

Negate traced her gaze and spared the tomb the briefest of glances before stopping and extending an arm to force Lisys to do the same. Right in front of their feet, the path suddenly dropped off into the Dead Scar where it became broken and uneven.

"We'll likely find better specimens closer to Deathholme," Negate instructed, taking a sharp left turn as he put his arm down. "Walk along the side with me."

"I don't think we should go down too far..." Lisys muttered, casting one more weary gaze at the black temple behind them before looking ahead. Every once in a while a pair of red or yellow eyes would appear suddenly as a risen stalker turned, searching eagerly for its next victim, then disappear once more as the zombie turned its back on the travelers once more.

"You, of all people, have nothing to be afraid of," Negate laughed, holding his wand a short distance ahead of him. "Just _don't_ wander off."

"I won't..." Lisys tilted her head up at the hulking voidwalker, his frowning visage tossing a soft, other-worldly purple glow. "Do you have hands, and can I hold one?" she asked it rhetorically, but pushed her boney hand into the blue, hand-like glow beneath its right shackle despite herself.

"I think I can make out the gate to Deathholme from here," Negate announced, narrowing his eyes. "This is far enough. Remember, don't—"

"Wander off," Lisys finished. "You don't have to worry about that."

Negate appeared skeptical. "Why don't we keep the same target just in case?"

"How's that one?" Lisys pointed a boney finger at the nearest dreadbone sentinel. "Funny, we came up here to do the exact same thing we were doing in the very beginning..."

"It is funny," Negate agreed, motioning for his voidwalker to rush the armored skeleton. "Just stay close to Phandok; he can always find me again."

The Forsakenness left his side reluctantly, sliding down the embankment into the Scar after the hazy demon, somewhat comforted by his light. Negate explained to her in the past that the voidwalker's main focus was inducing unspeakable pain, even if he was not capable of much real, lasting harm. So she stayed back a step while the demon tormented the poor beast before charging at it. Likewise, a few seconds passed before she heard the soft _whrr _of the shifting and darkening magics her partner manipulated some distance behind her.

When the beast was dead, Negate gave her enough time to collect the spinal dust before sending his demon on the next undead soldier, Lisys obediently in tow.

Negate made a conscious effort to keep his own feet out of the scar wherever possible, an increasingly difficult task as they ventured even closer to Deathholme. Finally he lost sight of her entirely, despite several gestures and urgent hollers for her to turn around.

Grudgingly, he slid down the embankment after her, afraid to call Phandok back should his companion not see the voidwalker leave and panic, alone and lost. Almost instantly he wished he'd taken the chance; as soon as Lisys had rematerialized within his vision, so too did a hulking abomination—a flesh golem much like Gordo of Tirisfal Glades, albeit an agent of Deathholme.

The ground was shaking as he thundered toward her and Lisys noticed the beast too late to run. She drew her daggers and crossed the blades over her head, narrowly blocking an enormous meat cleaver thrust downward from a height equal to that of five men, preventing immediate decimation, but barely. Her elbows cracked and she let out a sharp cry as it pressed down heavily, then withdrew to swing again. She sprang out of the way, but did not land on her feet.

Phandok, largely uninvested in her well-being, began to return to his master, but was intercepted half way as Negate frantically commanded him to draw the abomination's attention away from Lisys. He was a fraction of a second too late; with a third, devastating swing Lisys disappeared, knocked back into the darkness at least twenty feet away before the voidwalker commanded its attention.

The warlock changed tactics and instead worked recklessly to kill the scourge agent as quickly as possible. He thrust his hand forward, pushing a curse on the flesh mound, then turned his palm over to drag the creature's soul—or souls—out of its body. Through the giant opening in its torso, Negate could see its organs flexing and pulsing in agony while purple tendrils of light drained out of the middle, weaving through the air to Negate's hand, clutching a half-formed crystal. The creature could not ignore Negate any longer.

The undead behemoth turned away from Phandok with a hateful grunt and began to charge Negate, who extended his other hand and prepared to cut his minion's health for some temporary protection when golden strands of light abruptly exploded from the ground, wrapping themselves around the abomination's meaty wrists. Unable to make out anything in the darkness, Negate suspended his confusion and started his drain soul spell over again. This time, a smattering of holy light cut across the flesh mountain until it fell over, dead.

Negate pocketed two soul shards, spinning around just in time for another elf to jump into the Scar behind him, a cocky smile spread across his face.

"I thought I recognized you!"

This other elf was small—small enough to make Negate feel far superior for the first time in his entire life—with long, silver hair gathered around the side of his head and clipped in a loose ponytail just below his shoulder. His robes were simple and dominated by light colors—a holy priests' dressings.

"We've met?" Negate questioned, certain that he'd remember if they had.

The boy's smile never faded. "Yeah! Jezebel—I'm Hazel's son. And you were Adel's beau for, like, forever, am I right? I also worked for your father briefly. I'm Hazel's son."

"Ah..." Negate stared at the boy, head swimming. "Walk with me a moment if you don't mind... my companion is missing and I need to find her."

"The dead girl? She went this way," Jezebel pointed, then motioned for Negate to follow him. "I could see where she landed from up there. I'll show you."

"Certainly," Negate glanced at his voidwalker who stared blankly at Jezebel, likewise sensing that something was _off._ Nonetheless, he fell into step beside the priest. "If you're Vaschel's nephew, why hasn't he...?"

"Neither of my uncles like talking about me," he answered as causally as an inquiry on the weather, "because I am not talking to them. Vaschel killed someone very important to me and Dawnn took his side, so... that's the end of it."

Negate lifted an eyebrow, wondering if the boy wasn't a little spoiled. "You completely cut off your only surviving family?"

"Sure did! And Vaschel especially is going to be kicking himself in a few years, because I know a _big_ secret," the priest giggled maniacally.

Negate stopped abruptly, struck by a sudden epiphany. "What the hell are you doing down here, anyway?" he demanded, facing Jezebel pointedly.

The blonde pressed a loose strand of hair behind his ear, rolling his eyes. "Well, I was up by the East Sanctum picking flowers... then I just... wandered down here, I guess," he shrugged. "What's it matter? You never could have killed that abomination yourself. Huu! Ingrate."

Negate suddenly seized hold of the boy's face, holding him perfectly still by his jaw as he stepped forward to examine Jezebel's eyes closely, until their noses nearly touched.

Jezebel never attempted a recoil, smirking as he found they were breathing the same air. "My, you're _forward_."

Negate smirked, too, and pushed the priest away, taking a half-step back himself. "Picking flowers _indeed. _You're high_._"

"Maybe a little..." Jezebel giggled, recovering himself. "But I'm not, like, an addict."

"Mmhm," Negate scoffed. "There's a big difference between chewing a few petals at a party and picking it yourself while wandering aimlessly for several miles, thistlehead."

The priest stuck his tongue out briefly, a silver of moonlight glinting off of a small stud. "Everywhere I go is a party. The girl wouldn't get it, but if you waaaant..."

"Thanks, but I am not exactly on holiday down here," Negate chuckled, relief flooding through him as finally, almost right under his nose, Lisys appeared, seemingly a bit dazed but unhurt.

Lisys had heard them before she could see them well, but had trouble recognizing Negate's voice in his own language. Upon identifying her comrade, she briefly felt relieved herself, but it faded quickly. Out of habit, she forced an unnecessary straight face.

"Ne... Negate?" she mumbled, having trouble keeping her voice as level. Some part of her wanted to demand the name of the pretty elf he was talking and laughing with while she was missing, but instead she muttered a heart-broken, "Who is your friend?"

"Ah... this is Jezebel. Jezebel, Lisys," Negate answered nonchalantly, offering a hand to help Lisys up. She took it unhappily.

"I see... she's very pretty..." the undead muttered to herself more than the elves, at which Negate laughed. Jezebel did not take the comment quite as lightly, and retaliated immediately.

"I am _not_ a girl!" he snarled fiercely, curling his thin fingers under the long sleeves of his robe. "I'm _male_! And what are you supposed to be? Some kind of scraggly rat? I have a penis and I'm still cuter than you are—does that bother you a little bit?"

Lisys winced and averted her eyes to the ground immediately, desperately avoiding Jezebel's face. She couldn't even bring herself to apologize.

"Calm down!" Negate laughed again, motioning for Lisys and Jezebel to climb out of the Scar with him. "Do people often make that mistake?"

Jezebel followed, pointedly stepping ahead of Lisys. "Just humans and... _was humans," _he spat like a dirty word, frowning at the mopey girl behind him. "I don't know what's wrong with them."

"I couldn't tell you, but I don't believe she meant to offend you," Negate offered, dismissing Phandok. "Come back to town with us. I don't think you should be walking around alone in the dark, stoned out of your mind."

"Huuu! I'm pretty lucid," Jezebel insisted snottily, sparing Lisys a backwards glance. "What was your name again, rat?"

"Lisys," the undead took a deep breath. "Listen, I'm sor—"

The priest turned his nose back to the air again. "I think mom mentioned a girl with a stupid name like yours once."

"Your mother knew Lisys?" Negate glanced over his shoulder, inquiring eyebrow raised.

Lisys did not comment, instead occupied herself with shuffling closer to Phandok, too frightened of Jezebel to walk closer to Negate and too frightened of the dark to stay far away.

"No, not my real mother. I stayed in Lordaeron for a year to learn Common—which I totally didn't because I was sleeping with some cute paladin who would translate for me—but he and his brother totally called their mother by her first name. Isn't that awful? So I started calling her mom, but I call my real mother momma or whatever. I don't even know anymore, she's been dead too long."

Lisys squealed suddenly, startling both elves so much that they jumped. Negate was particularly worried, having known Lisys for so long but never having heard that particular sound. He turned to face her in wild confusion.

"But you're a boy!" she reminded Jezebel with a stiff point, eyes wide enough that he could make them out above and below the leather straps on her face. "And—_he _and _his—_and—how did you? You slept with him? … Is that really possible! How!" she demanded, voice so shrill and bewildered it was as if he'd told her Sylvanas had decided Arthas should be forgiven.

Jezebel put his hands on his hips, walking a fine line between offended and intrigued. "Are you serious? … I can draw you a diagram in the sand, I guess..."

Lisys clamped a hand over her mouth, embarrassed but still confused.

Negate bent to get a clearer look at her face. "_Are _you serious? Of course it's possible. Women have their methods, too... how could _you _not know that?"

"You mean Saiynt really meant—!" Lisys covered the entirety of her face with her hands.

Negate doubled over, laughing harder than he had in a long time. "Did you think we were all just kidding with you this whole time? I'm fairly certain she was _really _hitting on you!"

"Who would hit on _you?"_ Jezebel asked Lisys, but without the same cruel undertone. He didn't wait for her to answer, turning to Negate instead. "For _not _being on holiday, you sure are laughing a lot. Hey whatever, if you want to stay sober... _but_! I have always wondered what bloodthistle would do to, say... her?" he nodded toward the undead in front of him.

Negate dried his eyes and shook his head, again leading the pair back toward Tranquillien. "Probably nothing, but it's a bad idea."

"What's bloodthistle...?" Lisys asked a bit listlessly, still in partial shock.

"Nothing, Lisys. Ignore him, he's not all there."

"Sure, but," Jezebel smoothed his hair, his smile returning. "Have you ever actually tried it on a nonelf? Come on, what's the worst that could happen? She'd be giggly for a few hours. She's too mopey anyway."

Negate laughed and shook his head. "I'm not letting you experiment on her."

"Then you should chew some with me! Being high by myself is no fun," Jezebel crossed his arms in a half-pout, but couldn't help another giggle. "I won't charge you anything."

"You won't pay me, either," Negate reminded, pleased to see working arcane lanterns again. "I have to make a living out here, you know."

"If you're worried about that, that abomination we just killed was wanted," the priest smiled, then appealed to Lisys, despite his mistreatment of her. "You want to have fun, don't you?"

Lisys became flustered and fell for it, despite his mistreatment of her. "Well... sure..."

Negate rubbed his forehead, but couldn't resist a smile. "Oh hell... I suppose I might as well while my sister is a whole forest away. But, only if there's nothing for us to do in the morning, and absolutely _no _experimenting on the dead girl."

The trio shuffled right into the tiny, isolated town, laughing and talking loudly with no consideration for its citizens, all fast asleep except for one.

/LETTER: LISYS TO DEATHGUARD OLIVER

Hello.

You have been getting my letters, haven't you?

I just thought I'd let you know, again, that I'm still okay.

And that these elves certainly are a fun-loving bunch. That's all, I guess.

Lisys

*END: CHAPTER 26*

**(everyone)** : So, I know I said I was on a kind of hiatus until back-end editing was done... more on that later.

First, I want to clear up some confusion.

I apologize if I was not clear in the earlier announcement xD However, I am going to tell you right now that I am **NOT **abandoning Ffnet. Necrophilia will be posted on Ffnet in its entirity. When I am finished with editing the old chapters, I will replace them with newer, shinier chapters.

I also want you to know that I am **NOT **done yet. XD In fact, I only have up to chapter 3 edited. But, back-end editing is hard. Ask my editor (the lovely Tearle on Ffnet, kermitsgirl on dA) how much I bitch about it. Srsly. So one a week isn't really realistic I guess. SUE ME!

But I don't like not moving forward. What I am saying is, it bothered me that the story was essentially stalled. So, I might update with new chapters WHILE I back-end edit here and there just a little bit. They will come few and far between I think xD But it's better than waiting like a year, right?

In the mean time, there's lots of lovely art on dA for you to sink your teeth into to keep you from getting WAY DISINTERESTED while you wait. Also, you can talk to me easier on dA, which is why I like it better... sort of. It frustrates me too. I'll let you all pick your own preferences. Peace. (:


	30. Chapter 27

*BEGIN: CHAPTER 27*

Just inside the City of Lordaeron, a large estate sat relatively uncrowded and quiet despite a great rukus some blocks away. The air was so quiet within the structure, in fact, that its occupants could hear the aging wood creak in the wind.

At a grand table, a family of three ate a modest meal prepared by the Lady alone—all the servants had been dismissed. On the right end sat the famous nobleman and holy warrior Avarett Crisys, home for the first time in nearly a decade and only under the gloomiest duress. To his right sat his prim wife, as cheerful as ever; beside her, their teenage daughter who had refused to spare either a slight glance until the meal was nearly finished and she set down her utensils, in their exact locations, and cleared her throat.

"I'm getting married," she announced, folding her napkin neatly, speaking as one would of the weather.

Jaqlyn's sunny mood shifted back into something more familiar, but she did not snap or scold. "Phasilica, dear, what are you—"

Avarett, however, slipped into more confusion and disbelief than he thought he was capable of after a numb weekend. "_What?_"

"I'm marrying Jacob Andy," the teenager clarified, finally glancing up over the top of glasses she'd only recently finished growing into.

Jaqlyn set a hand on her husband's arm with a forced smile, signaling him to wait, before turning to Phasilica with forced sympathy. "Phasilica, _dear, _you _hate _Jacob."

The daughter unfolded and refolded the napkin again, unsatisfied with its creases. "What's that got to do with marriage? Besides, I love my nephew."

"I understand, dear!" Jaqlyn rushed to cut off her bewildered spouse once more, her perfect expression cracking. "But you are awfully young, and under so much pressure. Don't make rash decisions. Listen, darling, if my grandbaby needs any mothering..." she attempted to take Phasilica's hand, but it was promptly jerked away. Undaunted, she continued to force a sweet tone, "...I would be happy to fill in."

Phasilica stiffened, but slowly forced an equally cheerful demeanor. "I thought you might volunteer... but now it won't be necessary, will it?"

Avarett sat back in stunned silence, rubbing hopelessly at dark circles under his eyes. He couldn't even begin to process what tortured him more—that his daughter was asking him to give her away so shortly after he lost her sister, or that perhaps Phasilica had died long ago and been replaced by this cool, calculating creature he couldn't recognize. "No... Phasilica, you're too young to get married."

"I am not asking for permission," the teen answered, finally pushing her plate forward and standing. "Go drink something; you'll feel better."

Pain rolled itself into anger that he could scarcely force down. "_Excuse you_," Avarett frowned.

Phasilica remained standing, expression unchanging. "Thank you; I was just about to ask."

"Sit down!" Avarett shouted, the order punctuated by their dining room door exploding off of two hinges to hang uselessly from the third, wide open. Phasilica fell back into her chair obediently with a short scream, covering her mouth quickly, while Jaqlyn paled slightly as a heavily-plated warrior stepped inside.

Avarett stood up swiftly, backing toward the far corner where he'd left his arcanite reaper, while a haggard member of the city guard chased the intruder into the dining room, throwing his entire weight behind his sword as he cleaved at the enemy's armor, smashing a large crack across the warrior's chest plate. Blood followed the blade as the guard withdrew while the invader retrieved a shield from her back, bashed the guard full-force into a stupor, and cracked him hard in the ribs with a great hammer. The soldier fell, unable to speak and drowning in his own blood.

Avarett's hands grasped the haft of his axe behind him as he stared at his adversary and growled. "Who are you?"

The intruder stepped forward, blood beginning to pool in a large gash perpendicular to deep cleavage, then spill over an irreparably torn black-and-white tabard that had once held a print of a frightening face with a fanged mouth—the symbol of the Warsong Clan, one of the last pockets of rebel Horde. She removed her helmet and half tossed it onto the dinner table with a loud, heavy bang, revealing darkly tanned skin, a half-shaved head of brown hair, and two unfeeling brown eyes, except for a small section of her left where repeated injury had begun to turn her iris blue.

Shock prevented Avarett from advancing. "... Abby …?"

Phasilica relaxed visibly, while Jaqlyn appeared terrified.

She finally spoke in a calm, droning alto, pointing an accusing gloved finger to Jaqlyn. "Your wife killed Angelina."

Avarett didn't spare the notion another thought. "Abby, that's ridiculous. Help me find the bodies of the men you've injured and I might be merciful."

"Avarett, darling, the poor girl used to play with Angelina and Phasilica when they were small, remember? This must be handled with grace. You're weary, go up to bed... I can handle Miss Xanthic on my own," Jaqlyn pleaded nervously.

"Shut your lying mouth!" Abby accused strongly with a snarl, slamming both hands on the table. "This _woman—"_

"I don't want to hear it!" Avarett shouted back, lifting his axe. "You are the daughter of a friend, but I have been as kind as I can!"

Before he could even swing, however, a circle of light traced itself protectively around the exhausted warrior.

Phasilica frowned, sparing her father a side-ways glance. "I _do _want to hear it."

"This _woman,_" Abby continued before Avarett could interrupt again, "sought me out two days ago and hired me to kill Ariel Dauntlight."

"She wants our daughter's killer brought to justice! That's natural; it doesn't mean she was involved," Avarett retorted, shocking even himself that he was humoring such heresy.

"She wants your daughter's killer _silenced,_" Abby hissed, gripping the table. "When I was ready to collect payment, I would be ambushed and she would turn me into the city—then I would be hanged for war crimes and she could sleep easier knowing there's no unreliable sociopath bragging about his high-profile crime to potential new employers. I've been in this business a while now, old man, trust me—this is how it works," she snarled.

Avarett sighed. "That doesn't make any sense, Abby. Why would she ask _you, _someone close to... to my daughter?" he asked, lowering his weapon.

Abby rolled her eyes. "Because I am _good _and she assumed I'd want the motherfucker dead bad enough to ignore my gut."

The paladin did not believe her, and yet suddenly he could not prevent his eyes from watering. He wiped away at them miserably with one hand. "And if he killed you instead? He'd have twice the motivation to tell everyone who will listen—eventually she could get caught."

Fear paralyzed Jaqlyn's forced smile upon her face. "D- dear, don't even humor this _traitor_..."

"Yes—if he killed you instead... what then?" Phasilica asked with cold interest, arms crossed over her chest.

Abby laughed, shaking her head. "Impossible."

"Pretend it's not," Phasilica insisted coolly. "If any of this were true, Jaqlyn would have a backup plan."

"This is insanity!" Jaqlyn interjected sharply.

Abby rolled her eyes but continued regardless. "Ariel would seek her out, demanding an explanation. She'd ambush him instead and turn him directly into my father... there are fates worse than hanging."

Phasilica nodded her head thoughtfully, mulling over the information before frowning at Jaqlyn, who stared at her husband wide-eyed and awaiting his response.

Avarett stepped forward, relocating his compassion and speaking quietly. "Abby... losing my little girl... has been devastating," he said slowly, the full weight of sorrow and guilt wrapped firmly around every word. "Losing a friend isn't much better. Cry. Deal with it like a normal person—quit chasing ghosts."

Abby rolled her eyes, reaching for her helmet once more. "Fine. I'll bring Ariel here and he can tell you himself."

Avarett grabbed her wrist suddenly, frowning. "Unfortunately, you'll be going back to prison."

Jaqlyn sighed deeply with relief and resumed her chipper smile while Phasilica was already quietly planning Abby's escape in the midst of the struggle that ensued.

/SET LOCATION: EVERSONG FORREST, PRESENT DAY

A soft blanket spread over sweet, green grass just outside the city served as a thin layer of protection from the cold dirt. Prettily perched atop, Negatory opened an old breadbox and reached inside, fishing around.

"This has been the most fun I've had in a long time!" she squealed enthusiastically as she produced a fat toad. "I could chase mana wyrms all day I think! And Sunstrider Isle had so many froggies. Do you think we could keep working south if we don't tell Negate?"

"I don't see why not, but it's really important that we keep it between us, and we should wait until we're sure your brother isn't close by. I don't want him mad at me," Dawnn answered, reaching into another box to produce a smaller toad. He held it cupped in his hands with a small opening into which he whispered, "I am _so _sorry."

Beside him, Negatory attempted to squeeze the fat amphibian into a wedding dress she stole from a doll. "I'm okay with taking a short break. Besides, I want a new adventuring outfit! Don't you?"

"Adventuring... outf—?" Dawnn lifted an eyebrow, handing her the smaller toad after she'd forced the other, newly dressed toad back into the box. "Oh... Ah, maybe later. I think I'd kind of look like a jackass running around Eversong Woods in full plate."

Negatory giggled. "It is kind of a funny picture," she answered, forcing the other frog into a misshapen tuxedo she'd made herself. "Oh, what a beautiful day for Mister and Miss Green to become Mister and Missus Green. Are you ready to perform the ceremony?"

"Me? You want _me _to do it?" Dawnn started.

"Well of course. You were a priest," Negatory reminded, holding the husband-and-wife-to-be on the blanket firmly. "You've done this before."

The blonde laughed, shaking his head. "I don't have the tome."

"So?" she pouted a little. "Your libram's a book isn't it? And you have to have the whole thing memorized by nooow..."

Dawnn chuckled with disbelief at his own willingness and retrieved his relic from his bag, opening to a random page. "All right, I don't suppose you have a ring?"

"Yep!" Negatory beamed. "Everything is ready! Three, two, one, go!"

Dawnn cleared his throat to keep from laughing and to continue on as seriously as possible. "All right... Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today in the sight of the Holy Light—"

"Eek!" Negaotry screamed suddenly as the fat amphibian nipped at her hand, scaring her, then made a hasty escape and dove head-first into a nearby pool of water, a badly stretched wedding dress floating on top. Dawnn cleared his throat again while Negatory dried her eyes on her arm, whimpering quietly.

"Don't worry, I've seen this before," Dawnn reassured, setting down the book and patting her head. "I'll go get her and remind her of all the reasons she fell in love with Mister Green. It'll be fine."

"But she disappeared in the water over there! How... will... you..." Negatory started, letting the sentence trail as Dawnn stood, untucked and removed his shirt. "Oh... okay..." she finished robotically as he disappeared into the water.

He swam to the bottom, no more than twelve feet, honestly not expecting to find the original Miss Green as toads are largely land creatures, only diving into water to escape great stresses like forced marriage to another man. His plan was to grab a fat frog and hope Negatory wouldn't know the difference.

He did not, however, plan on the slimy critters being so difficult to catch, and was forced to return to the surface for a half-second twice for air before he had finally obtained a satisfactory specimen. Swimming with his arms in front to hold the frog, it took twice as long for him to emerge on Negatory's side of the pond, preparing to apologize for the hold up.

Instead, he dropped the frog back into the water and staggered the remaining few steps to land, swallowing dryly. The blanket had been torn and neither the boxes nor toad where within sight. Negatory lay sprawled on her side, eyes open wide and glossy with a small fleck of blood in the corner of her left. What little color his skin held drained and he fell on his knees in the mud. He couldn't even tell what type of injury had killed her.

Perched atop the body was a Forsaken death knight as comfortable as if she sat on the ground. She was smaller than Dawnn—significantly so—but the greater disparity in skill and armor meant it didn't matter. He stared at Negatory a little longer, then the marine-haired knight, slow to process. Both stared back.

"Ya'ow," the knight leaned forward, tapping her chin. "You own't look as much like him as his othah son... Is'at why he notched ya ear?"

Dawnn watched her stupidly, slowly lifting an arm to touch his right ear, the tip of which was missing. He wasn't breathing quickly, but felt a great stress on his chest.

Saiynt frowned impatiently. "'Ey! Was-priest!" she barked sharply, causing him to flinch. "What's'a oldest body ya ever seen resurrected, hm?"

Dawnn swallowed hard, suddenly wiping at his eyes even though they were dry. "Ah-ah-ah-a few minutes, I don't know..."

"Akay, I got some questions for ya. When we done, I give her back, an' maybe you get lucky. If ya lie, I hunt you down an' cut off both ya heads an' a' holiest main in Azeroth cain' help neither of ya," she shifted, a plate spike in her boot piercing Negatory's chest. Blood barely leaked.

Dawnn shut his eyes and nodded, swallowing again. "Y- yes, Ariel cut my ear, ah... he said... to keep track of me." He couldn't even think deeply enough to care how she knew that.

"Tch! Soun' like him, stealin' ideas from a woman," Saiynt huffed, leaning on her palm. "I was 'ust curious about 'at... I'm actually here lookin' for someone. A Forsaken girl, a couple inches taller'n me, 'ut looks smaller 'cuz'a my tits an' she real timid."

Her heavy dialect slowed his comprehension further. "... … N- no... Doesn't... I don't know her."

"Boy, she was 'ust here, I know she was. They's what... three hunred people left in 'at city at'a most? You had'ta 'ave seen her."

"... Well... Phasilica just left..." Dawnn wet his lips, pressing his memory hard.

"Not her," Saiynt shot down quickly, tapping her foot. "C'mon!"

"Ah... th—... Negate just left with someone... that's the only dead girl... that I know of... t- to leave the city recently," he forced his eyes open, whimpering at the sight of Negatory's graying body. "Th- they! They went... ah, south to Tranquillien..."

"Negate..." the death knight thought hard, concentrating so much she failed to be amused by the pain she was causing. "Negate... sounds familiah... what's he look like?"

"Holy Light..." Dawnn gripped his knees, feeling ill. "Um... Short... long, long black hair..."

Saiynt nodded. Lisys was traveling with someone similar. "How you know him?"

"Damnit, why does that matter!" Dawnn demanded, anguished. "I don't know any _other _Forsaken, if it's not this girl, I can't help you!"

"Ya wastin' her time," Saiynt laughed cruelly. "How ya know 'im?"

"Lots of ways!" he answered desperately, leaning forward to get a better look at Negatory between the death knight's shins. "He and my mother are close in age, they were neighbors, he was engaged to my half-sister... Are we done now, _please?"_

"... Engaged to..." a slow, clever smirk stretched her full lips. "What was her name?"

"Adel..." he exhaled exhaustedly, shaking his head. "... She's... dead now."

Saiynt tossed her head back with a maniacal laugh that puzzled Dawnn. "Ya'ow," she giggled, standing finally. "Honestly I was just gonna kill both'a'ya 'cuz I hate elves—cain stand 'em! 'Specially pretty, lily mothafuckers like you, got my ass beat up once'a twice 'cuz'a cute young boys, but _you!"_ she knealed beside him, taking his face between her hands tenderly. He did not resist."_You _have made me _sooo _happy." She pressed a loving kiss to his despondent lips, stood up, and walked past him.

Dawnn continued to stare forward as the unholy shriek of a dead horse followed by galloping sounded behind him. He waited a full ten seconds that felt like sixty before he stood numbly, raising his hands to manipulate the holy light he'd been _entrusted _with. The first cast failed because he was too jumpy and could not focus. He forced himself to calm down and started his prayer over.

The spell was long and exhausting in itself, requiring copious energy and focus. Allowing himself to become distracted with the potential outcome was a torture he avoided at all costs, lest he corrupt the spell again, wasting time he wasn't sure she'd had; at some point, there would not be enough life left in the body to chase away the death. No one had ever bothered looking for that point because of the obvious risk involved—for that reason, it had been a long-held belief that redemption is best cast as soon as possible.

He finished the prayer, pushing a pool of light over his head where it evaporated immediately. Opening his eyes, a curtain of yellow shot out of the dirt around her. The rogue's eyes shut, then opened wide again as she sprang up involuntarily, nearly on top of him. Allowing himself to breathe normally for the first time since the ordeal began, he threw his arms around her so she would not collapse again.

Negatory's body slackened, weak and barely-alive. "... D- Dawnn? What... happened? … How come you're all wet? Ugh... I feel so sleepy..." she muttered half-coherently.

One arm around her tiny waist, he removed the small droplet of blood from the corner of her eye, then smoothed her hair. "C'mon... you... should lie down..." he answered shakily.

She lifted her head from his chest, blushing a little, and reached up to tug on his goatee mischievously. "Hey, you're the one who should lie down! You look awful!"

/SET LOCATION: THE GHOSTLANDS

Walking toward Tranquillien slightly ahead of Negate, Knucklerot's massive head splitting the seams of her backpack, Lisys was actually humming a little and walking perfectly normal for the longest trek that Negate had ever seen. The elf learned all over again that no smile was more contagious than the sincere grin of the normally depressed.

Finally, he couldn't help but wonder. "You're awfully happy this evening after Jezebel abused you all yesterday."

The corners of Lisys's handkerchief remained drawn up, reflective of the wide smile underneath. "You were so sick this morning, I am surprised you remember anything from last night."

"Ah, bloodthistle is one hell of a drug," Negate chuckled beside her. "Don't let me do it again."

"As if I could stop you," she covered her mouth unnecessarily, giggling. "I am happy because my death day is coming up."

"Your _what?" _the elf laughed, withdrawing his wand to light their path as the sun was setting behind them once more. Their little party meant for a late start that morning.

Lisys glanced behind herself at Phandok looming behind them, then moved a little closer to Negate. "My death day... After you die, it seems silly to celebrate your birth, so..."

Negate chuckled again. "And this... anniversary... makes you chipper?"

"Hmm, only if I make the effort to be happy," she answered thoughtfully, looking ahead after noticing their tiny, crumbling destination reflecting in his glowing eyes.

Her companion's smile faded. "It's an effort?"

She unshouldered her backpack, holding it to Negate as they entered the village of Tranquillien. "Can you turn this in, please? I want to go check my mail."

Uncharacteristically not in the mood to crush her hopeful dreams, he resumed his smile and took the bag from her. "Wait for me by the inn, all right?"

"I'm not going to get lost in a town with three houses!" she countered, giggling as she walked toward the inn, spiraling ominously skyward in the darkness. Negate went the opposite direction, toward Deathstalker Rathiel, the Forsaken reinforcement who had posted the bounty. The deathstalker appeared disappointed.

"Where's the girl?" he asked with heavy race bias also common to the blood elves despite their alliance. "I'd hate for you to screw her over."

"Out of a whole twenty silver?" Negate scoffed, dropping the head on the ground next to the similar, rotting cranium belonging to Luzran that they'd left earlier. "She's busy. I'll split it with her, relax."

"Ah... Luzran and Knucklerot! Not looking so tough anymore, are you? I can see you're still looking ugly as ever," the deathstalker smirked, spirits lifted. "Take this, Negate, you've earned it." He handed the elf a small pouch.

Thinking the undead's manner of speaking to the disembodied heads was one of the creepiest things he'd seen in some time, Negate turned away without another word, making his way over the gnarled path back to the inn, where Lisys sat in the entry way. Immediately Negate knew that something was wrong—her brief joviality had drained entirely and she did not look at him as he approached, merely sat tapping a rolled up parchment on the stone and staring emptily at the sky.

"... What's the matter?" Negate asked with impatient worry, missing the happier Lisys already.

"We're done here, aren't we?" she asked, gaze remaining skyward. "There isn't anymore important work for us... ?"

"There's always work to do, but at this point we could move on to some place that needs us more..." he answered, puzzled.

She shook her head, sighing. "It's been fun... but... go ahead without me..."

*END: CHAPTER 27*

/LETTER: DEATHGUARD OLIVER TO LISYS

Klosawf. You were Lisys Klosawf.

Come home, I need to talk to you.

^DISCUSSION^

**(everyone): **Still sick of editing... so I wrote this! Also so you wouldn't forget where we were. Don't worry, it's stiiiiill a work in progress -groans- But look at it this way, I think I'm still moving faster than my editor is on her HP fic. :3

**Escalus: **Hellooooo hellooooo (: Where would I be today without youuu? Yes, I live. -hugglehuggle-

What the hell is the Earten RP network? :P Is it a website or what?

As to all of your questions... one could assume you'll be learning a lot about the answers to those here right quick :P

How you likin' the dA arts? X3

**AriaAsacura: **Yeees, there is the trap! It's nice for Lisys to have a friend... finally. Before it was just Jublop and Negate who were both mean to her. XD

**Susinko: **Okay, you win. (: Haha seriously, your answers are coming.

Jeeze I say that a lot to you guys. Just wait, you'll see! :P


	31. Chapter 28

*BEGIN: CHAPTER 28*

/SET LOCATION: TIRISFAL GLADES

Vaschel's heavy boots rested on the small table in front of him, a small paper hat in front of his right foot and a small paper boat before his left, as he leaned his chair back on two legs, struggling with a third piece of parchment. The hat and the boat were simple and he recalled them from his childhood immediately, however neither had the potential to irritate Phasilica, and she deserved to be irritated for finding the audacity to drag him to Brill and ask him to remain idle while she tracked a dangerous necromancer by herself. He was bored and frustrated—the paper in his hands had nearly become useless from over-manipulation, and yet he was no closer to an airplane than when he started.

In his concentration, he took small foot steps in the hallway for granted, assuming they were Phasilica's, and was startled when an entirely different voice sounded behind him.

"Hi."

Vaschel removed his feet from the table, the front legs of his chair hitting the ground heavily as he stood and turned. "... Hello?"

A smaller Forsakenness with a quiet voice stood in the doorway. He'd nearly forgotten that he'd left it open.

"I'm sorry, I don't mean to intrude," she smiled, running a hand over her wild hair almost nervously before tentatively taking a step forward, then another. "Before you came, this was... actually my room, I'm just so used to it," she covered her mouth, giggling daintily.

The paladin lifted an elongated eyebrow, unsure of how he felt about undead of the giggly variety. "I kicked you out of your room? Sorry about that."

She continued to approach him, pausing to extend her small hand. "Claire Willower."

"Vaschel Dauntlight," he grasped her hand and shook it heavily, starting when her other hand grasped his forearm suddenly. He tensed in reaction to the unexpected cold, and she nearly squealed with delight at his flexing muscles, running her hand up to his shoulder before looking him in the face again.

"I'm homeless because of you," she whispered huskily, running her tongue over her lips. "Don't you think you should make this up to me?"

Vaschel finally put it together, eyebrows lifting with realization. "I think you should shut the door."

"Of course," Claire cooed, releasing his arm to retreat to the entry way, hips swaying with exaggeration. No sooner had she nearly closed the door did it swing open once more, an angry undead standing in the frame.

"Claire. Out," she ordered coolly.

Claire Willower whipped around to stare in stunned silence for a moment, stuttering before she finally spoke. "O- oh... M- Missus Andy... I had no idea..." she swallowed hard, barely looking at Vaschel as she nodded politely. "I'll just excuse myself, then."

"Please do."

Vaschel lifted an eyebrow as Claire ducked out. Something was amiss. "I thought you didn't like to be called that anymore?"

She stepped in, shutting the door behind her. "Why? Does it make you jealous to hear it? I told the innkeeper to call me Mrs. Dauntlight—does that make you feel better?" She crossed the room to have a seat on his desk, pushing his paper experiments out of her way. She was wearing her reading glasses again, staring at him over the tops of the frames. "Hmmm?"

Vaschel was almost dizzy with pleasure—but as much as he enjoyed her bizarre behavior, he couldn't ignore it. He looked away and forced just enough blood to his brain to produce a logical conclusion before approaching her, leaning over his chair to stare into her face.

She raised a thin eyebrow, enjoying his warm breath as she stared him down. "Is something troubling you, Mister Dauntlight?" She punctuated the question by running her tongue over the hole in her cheek.

He narrowed his eyes. "You're _not _Phasilica."

She didn't flinch. "Actually, most people call me Angelina."

"Well, Angelina, you chased off Claire, so you owe me. Leave the glasses on, I like it that way, and can I call you Phasilica?" He joked, falling back into his chair. He knew that she was still allied with the Scourge, and his philandering was potentially dangerous, but he couldn't help but like her. She was disarming without trying—too familiar to be ominous.

"You're chasing Jaqlyn, aren't you?" she leaned back, arms crossed.

Vaschel shrugged. "I don't know if your sister really wants me to—"

"You should wait. Tell her to stay close by you, don't make any moves yet."

For the first time, he regarded her suspiciously. "Right to business with you—of course."

"The Lich King generally lets his necromancers pick their own help if they're doing well for his army—usually they raise old family, or sometimes, in his way with Sylvannas Windrunner, old enemies they'd like to torture. Phasilica is a genius, and a brilliant tactician. Jaqlyn did well when she had my sister in her service, and I believe she means to trade me for her."

"Trade y—?" Vaschel's forehead wrinkled. "You think your mother is trying to recruit Phasilica again?"

"Recruit? No." She wet her lips. "Now, to be honest with you, Mister Dauntlight, I have no preference for either side, but I've made one iron-clad determination—the Scourge may have both of us or neither of us. Fate traditionally favors paladins, which is why I thought I'd make nice and advise you."

"Oh... okay," Vaschel nodded, stunned.

"Right now, besides myself, Jaqlyn has three death knights in her service—people from life she enjoyed screwing with. The Lich King is preparing to mobilize a small army—I'm not sure what for, but I believe this army will be sacrificed. Jaqlyn, no longer in his favor, will need to let go of possibly all three. You should wait until then to make any moves—Jaqlyn alone is difficult."

"Um..." Vaschel rubbed his forehead. "Ah, yeah, thanks, but from what I understand, Jaqlyn is looking for Phasilica? I don't think the confrontation can be avoided. Besides, Phasilica really, _really _wants to get this done, I think—"

"But Jaqlyn is side-tracked now," Angelina explained unamused. "Return to Silvermoon City while you have the chance. Make Phasilica understand." She rummaged lightly around his desk, picking at his origami experiments before her fingers landed on a small flask. She lifted it, sniffed its contents, and was suddenly possessed with a wild passion he hadn't seen in Phasilica in years. She threw it at the floor violently and swung a foot into his chest.

Vaschel leaned back suddenly, eyes wide, checking his chest cautiously for blood dripping from her pointed heel.

"_Do not botch this task, Mister Dauntlight!" _she snarled, pressing her foot harder forward. "Or I will end you."

"Wh—? H—! F—! Uh—! Y- Yes _ma'am_!" Vaschel stuttered, finally deciding to agree blindly and interpret the situation later.

xwx

A tiny thorn of dread pierced the back of Lisys's consciousness and grew a cubic millimeter with every step north, toward her hometown. Despite the impending sense of doom, she remained outwardly giddy because Negate had decided to come with her after all, and he seemed awfully cheerful himself.

"_Do you really think I'm that impatient?"_ he'd asked with a laugh when she expressed her shock that he would follow her back into Tirisfal Glades. _"I think I can stand the place long enough for you to have a brief conversation with a man of many words like your ex-husband. Besides, Ambassador Sunsorrow wanted a message delivered to Silverpine Forest, just south..."_

She asked him a few questions about his life in Silvermoon City that had been bothering her, and they kept her mind off of Deathguard Oliver. She liked his life; it seemed so stunning next to hers.

"Personally, I think it's... kind of cute that your mother named you and your sister similarly," Lisys weighed in. "Negate and Negatory. Like a poem..."

Negate turned his head so she could not see him grinning and spotted a familiar abomination attempting to rip a small flower out of the dying grass a few yards off of the path. He waved politely to Gordo, maintaining his smile despite the smell. "Actually, my mother died in childbirth before she had the chance to name my sister."

"What?" Lisys tilted her head at the elf, eyebrows raised. "Then who—?" When Negate looked back at her and she could see the sort of slyness creeping into his smile, she clamped a hand over her mouth to keep from an explosion of laughter. "You named your sister after _yourself!"_

"Yes," the warlock nodded, chuckling with her. "I did. Honestly."

Lisys giggled uncontrollably, even letting a light squeal escape. "You are so pompous! What were you thinking?"

"Children should always be named after someone very intelligent," Negate answered, tossing his hair indignantly and holding his nose in the air for as long as he could manage before breaking down into laughter again. "I'm kidding! Cut me some slack; how many fifteen-year-old boys did you know who did a lot of _thinking? _I wonder about it myself sometimes, hah. I could have at least named her after our mother."

Lisys nodded, panting as she recovered from the last giggles. "I haven't laughed that hard in a long time... Thank you."

"I don't think you've _ever _laughed that hard," Negate snorted.

"So, why didn't your father name her, then? You told me he was still alive..." she squinted ahead, smiling underneath her mask. The timber gates of Death Knell were still far off.

Negate shook his head, expression smoothing over. "He wasn't around. I'd almost had my mind made up at that time that I wasn't going to say anything about his daughter, or my mother's death."

The undead's smile faded. "Oh... may I... ask why?" she prodded gently.

"Cevian had been divorced from my mother and remarried—to a woman he'd had an affair with before that—for five years when Negatory was born," he explained rather sternly. "I wouldn't say that I blame him for my mother's death, but the whole event was... a very serious lapse of judgment on his part. My mother was ill and rarely in full understanding of herself. I don't think I'll ever forgive him for it—not wholly."

"Who would marry someone like _that_ anyway?" Lisys frowned at the ground. She happened to glance upward after a moment of tense silence to find him staring at her strangely, which immediately broke her attitude. "Oh, shadow, I'm sorry! I didn't mean...!"

"It's all right, just a strange question from you." Negate chuckled. "But it was a legitimate question. He's actually been married thirteen times—most were ill before he met them. As for my step mother, she's weak herself... dumb as hell, too. I'm not sure if it's vulnerable women or stupid ones, but I'd like to think my mother wasn't stupid. Either way, he must keep a powerful hold on the women in his life. I told my step-mother her husband was a skeevy adulterer, he confirmed it, and they're still married."

"It all sounds awful," her gaze lowered, centered wistfully on his hand at his side. She wished they had the sort of relationship that allowed her to reach for it. "Affairs... you must hate him."

"Cheer up. I'm thirty-five; it doesn't bother me _now,_" Negate chuckled again, snapping his fingers in front of her face. "Besides, honestly I am making him out to be worse than he was. A childhood friend of mine was... became pregnant as a teenager, out of wedlock. Her parents wanted her to drown the baby, and when she refused, they cut her off. She'd have been homeless without my father's help. Few people are all good or all bad, except for your exhusband, perhaps. Can't stand that man," the warlock mused, scanning the massive timber gates with his eyes as they passed.

Dread consumed Lisys in an instant. "H- Hey... if Oliver asks me to stay—"

Negate cut her off with a stiff, haughty laugh. "He won't."

"Wh- well... what else could he want?" she toyed with her leather bracers, head down. She wasn't honestly convinced her husband was missing her, either.

Again, Negate laughed, and the cruel, high tones cut her inner ears and made her cringe. "To tell you he's replaced you with Novice Elreth and to stop sending him unwanted, pointless letters, of course."

"I hadn't even considered that..." Lisys confessed, voice cracking.

"Not at all? Hm. Well, could you blame him?"

She shook her head, only lifting her face when a familiar voice, that of Executor Arren, hailed her.

"Lisys! What the hell are you doing here already?" he demanded. "You weren't supposed to return until you'd made a deathguard of yourself—remember?"

"We're looking for Deathguard Oliver," Negate interjected for her, tapping his foot, but his companion had already started away, half-jogging through the breaking houses, loaded with nervous energy. With puzzled irritation, the elf chased after without waiting for the Executor's answer.

After four years, Lisys already knew where to find her husband—four or so years of undeath and his patrol hadn't changed. As she expected, he was just north of the church, his back against the fence, completely unassuming except for a strange hatchet at his feet. It was a simple weapon—at first she wasn't even sure why she'd noticed it at all, beyond that she knew it was not Oliver's. Her draw to the blade was inexplicable.

"What's—" she began, but he cut her off.

"Missus Andy did not kill your father as we had suspected," he informed her dryly, without emotion.

Her nerves calmed. He wasn't happy to see her, and Lisys could not even begin to decipher how she felt about that. "I know that."

"Well, now so does everyone, if they even give a shit anymore," he added, drumming his fingers on the fence behind him. "You were expecting something else out of me?"

Dumbfounded, she took a step toward him, then another, coming within arms' length before she'd realized. "... That... can't be all. You could have told me that over the letter," she managed, breathless.

Behind her, Negate had caught up but paused some distance away, curious but afraid to intrude. With her senses numbed, Lisys only knew he'd arrived by a small shift in Oliver's expression.

"If I'd done that, Executor Arren wouldn't owe me ten gold—remember? He bet against your ultimate failure to become _anything_," he reminded viciously, leaning forward with clear, aggressive interest in reinforcing her self-doubt. Her resolve did not appear to waver, and seeing that, he returned his weight to his heels, casually pushing the simple hatchet on the ground with his foot.

"There was a distinctive hole in Denton's skull. I doubt a priestess could wield an ax convincingly—I thought you might like to see the instrument of his demise. Don't get excited, it's the last favor I'll ever do you."

"... that can't be... all you had to say to me!" she insisted, fists balling at her sides. For some reason, she'd wished he had summoned her for the reasons Negate outlined. "My letters? Did you get any of them? Have you worried about me at all! I've... I've worried about you!"

Oliver held up a hand to silence her stiffly, already losing his patience. "Really. That's all."

Lisys disintegrated into pathetic whimpers, losing her grip on herself. The rogue struggled in vain to form an apology, but again he stopped her.

"Say... how's the baby?" he questioned with sarcastic interest.

"_Baby?_" Negate repeated under his breath as his companion turned away from the deathguard and hurried away, an audible, open sob escaping her, the likes of which he'd never heard. Even without an understanding of their conversation, he could gather that Deathguard Oliver had purposefully crossed some line, intentionally crushing his traveling mate.

"You're foolish to think you could do better than her," Negate scoffed at Oliver, then turned to follow quickly after Lisys.

xwx

Phasilica scowled heavily as a paper wad—or origami rock, as Vaschel referred to them affectionately—landed on the open book in her lap. "_What,_ Vaschel?" she snapped.

"C'mon! What'd you learn?" he returned, just as annoyed, sitting on the other bed directly across from her. Their knees were nearly touching, and he had a way of fidgeting that drove her crazy. He did it on purpose. "You can't just walk in here, start reading, and completely ignore me. I've been stuck here all damn day!"

Phasilica sneered lightly, naturally inclined to keep _the help _in the dark. As far as she was concerned, she'd brought Vaschel to happily do as he was told and ask no questions, but she recognized the unrealistic quality of such an expectation. Her expression smoothed and she flicked the paper away from her book. "Eliza Callen and Cleric Beryl—both people I knew in life and sources I believe I can trust—reported seeing Jaqlyn as well, sulking around the same area. I'd guess the witch hid a portal around that farm so she could come and go as she pleases and hunt for new victims."

"Victims? What kind of victims?"

"Lost travelers she wants to eat, or perhaps she expects me to return to the site of my old home about halfway between here and there, I don't really _know, _Vaschel. Now be quiet."

The elf considered Angelina's—if she really was Angelina—warning a moment and resumed fidgeting. Phasilica lifted her head once more to glare.

"Is something _bothering _you, Vaschel?" she growled.

He shifted unhappily, shaking his head. His ears betrayed him, folded over at the halfway. "No... well... no."

With another snarl, she returned her eyes to her book.

The silence was short-lived. Vaschel nudged her foot with his carefully after a mere sixty seconds. "Hey... hey! Just curious; what was your sister like before she died?"

When she ignored him completely, he reached out and snatched her book, raising it above his head. Phasilica yelped, startled by the quick motion, then wasted no time jumping to her feet but was too slow—Vaschel had already done the same, and the book was out of her reach again.

The undead clenched her fists at her sides, narrowing her eyes at his smirking face. Her vision began to narrow and blur as she concentrated on him, the room and even the much-desired book melting away.

Vaschel's head tilted forward and his eyes rolled back for a brief moment, but he recovered and returned to smiling while Phasilica's tunnel vision dissipated. He'd resisted.

"Hey, lady," the paladin taunted, wiggling the book from side to side above the priestess's head. "Stay out of my mind or you'll _never _get this back."

She crossed her arms and fell back onto the bed with irritation, almost a pout. "What were _your _sisters like?"

Once more the center of her attention, the paladin fell back as well with a broad smile, hostage firmly secure under his arm. "No, I asked you first."

"I'm not playing this with you, Vaschel." The priestess made another reach for her book, but he knocked her hands away. "Look, I'm not certain what you want to know! You go first." Defeated, she fell back onto her own bed, arms crossed.

"Basic stuff! You know... basic stuff! You have to go first, because I have a lot more ground to cover and could honestly go on for forty-five minutes," he reminded, waving her book in front of her face teasingly.

The woman heaved a sigh and leaned forward, her elbow on her knee and her face in her palm. It was an informal pose he didn't see from her often.

"Vaschel. What. Do you want. To know?" she asked soberly. The elf took on a more serious expression, set the book on the nightstand between their beds, and leaned forward himself, lowering his voice.

"Do... Do you remember sacking Silvermoon City with the Scourge?" he ventured tenderly.

Phasilica's back stiffened, but she could not bring herself to answer. Vaschel spared her the silence.

"I fought you—both of you. If you don't believe me, you can ask my brother," he'd lowered his voice to a soft whisper, and, without realizing it, both had leaned farther forward. "I want to know... why you broke away and she did not."

Phasilica wet her lips, setting both hands on her knees, curling her white fingers into her robes. "How can you be certain that you did not see my mother and I?"

"Does she look like you?" he questioned, furrowing his eyebrows.

"Very much. Besides that, I'm certain she is capable of altering herself in some small ways." Suddenly she drew away, losing interest in her book and laying out on the bed, her back to the paladin. "I'm sleepy, Vaschel. We can talk more in the morning."

"Good night..." he answered unhappily, running his fingers through his hair nervously. Could he trust this _Angelina _or not?

/SET LOCATION: THE KINGDOM OF QUEL'THALAS 600 YEARS AGO

A swift, soft whistle sounded as an arrow cut through the moonlight, striking a standard target dead-center, a hair away from splitting another arrow. The archer was female, light-haired and focused and confident but largely good-natured and extremely lovely—unremarkable for a high elf, except for the rounded, protruding belly that appeared to interfere with her draw.

A stranger in the bushes watched her fumble a bit awkwardly before she'd remastered her own—albeit adapted—technique with clear, carefree laughter. The bullseye was nearly entirely concealed when he finally chose to reveal himself.

The archer did not start because she had known he was there the entire time. She merely unstrung her bow, sparing her company a glance or two. He was quite handsome.

"Awfully late to be stalking the forest, isn't it, Mister, ah...?" she began politely, replacing her ammo in a quiver that she was forced to carry in her fist instead of on her back—it no longer fit around her torso.

"Dauntlight," he finished for her, smiling smoothly, very charming. "I'm in a bit of trouble, I'm afraid, and I figure I should skip town for a while," he added mischievously. "Say, don't you look familiar?"

"Well I should hope so—I was one of the best rangers in the country for some time. Of course I took a break for—" she rubbed her swollen belly affectionately, her face illuminating "—obvious reasons. I must admit, I'll be in some trouble, too, if you tell anyone we met out here or what I was up to. My husband thinks archery is dangerous, pah." She winked playfully at the stranger, their glowing blue eyes mixing flawlessly with the light of the moon.

The stranger concealed his disgust well. "I don't think you'll have to worry about that, Mrs...?"

"Ah, Mrs. Voidbreaker," she answered.

"Oh! Oh, wonderful," he laughed, approaching her suddenly in a way that unsettled her a bit, drawing a cudgel from his hip. "You'll have money on you, then." Without another word, he swung at her face.

*END: CHAPTER 28*

**Aria: **Don't be silly ;) That would be a terrible place to kill off a main character.

**Norah: **Actually, the _point _of this story, as per the description:

A tangled web of lovers, friends, and mistakes comes full circle when a snotty blood elf meets an ugly forsakenness.

If I removed some characters, I'd have to change the description! Five or six characters hardly makes for a _tangled web _of anything!

Besides, I am too inexperienced to create a story of this vastness without so many characters. But I think you might want to go back and skim through—you mention that you care about Phasilica, but not Vaschel? I think you could be missing some serious plot points, and that's why you're getting lost.

If it's too boring to read through (and I wouldn't blame you for thinking so) then I think you'll miss out on some important stuff if you really like the story.

And thanks for those lovely comments (; Hopefully you have the answers to the questions you're interested in soon.


	32. Chapter 29

*BEGIN CHAPTER 29*

/SET LOCATION: DEATHKNELL

Lisys pressed herself into the back corner of a tiny, one-story house, attempting to become as small as possible. Bones and broken furniture littered the floor and wind passed easily through gaping holes in fragile, rotting wood. If she could remember what it looked like ten years ago, its current condition may have been upsetting.

Outside, weak, mindless scourge scratched and scavenged at the ground, eating fleshy, pulpy remains of their dead brethren. She was vaguely aware of distant combat—more of Shadow Priest Sarvis's new recruits culling their numbers, a hopeless battle evidenced by the little change in the town since Lisys had gone away—and of Negate looking for her, an impatient shout largely lost in the wind.

Then the decrepit door banged shut, and she was perfectly alone. She attempted to force herself back further into the wood, willing herself to merge with it and rot away as she should have in the event of her death.

She'd moved into this house with Oliver before they were technically married, a big faux pas in the tiny town where she'd grown up, except in extreme cases—say, if her childhood home mysteriously burned to the ground on the day of her father's death. With the old bastard dead, his iron grip around her neck had fallen and she never wanted to see the place again. After that, she simply had the matter of her impending wedding to attend to and she was free to crawl into a hole and cease existing, a personal fantasy she'd held since she was very young.

Oliver bought the house on credit, knowing full well that he'd only work off the debt if he lived to be seventy, just because the noisy, demanding nature of his large family was hell on his fragile fiancee's nerves. They slept separately, of course, and Lisys had a whole week to find the words to tell the most loving man she'd ever encountered that she'd only accepted his proposal as a brief, weak rebellion against her father. Seven days to tell her sweetheart of nearly four years that she never thought her father would actually let her marry, that Denton seemed so powerful, so endlessly tyrannical that she'd never even considered his death. She was left with a mere week to explain that she did not want to get married.

He went to work every day, early in the morning, and came home late at night, usually finding her exactly as he'd left her. Oliver never once questioned this eccentricity, subconsciously wise to the agony she spent every waking second struggling to survive and content to let her behave in whatever way made the passing of time less painful. Those days flew by and she never found the words.

The rogue removed the soft, dark cloth that had been wrapped around her face and twirled it in her fingers listlessly. For a moment, she lifted a hand behind her back to remove the leather straps that obscured her malformed eyes, but her arms felt too weak to unbuckle the tight mask, and it fell back to playing with the cloth.

The common perception among anyone who hadn't known Lisys in the days after her father's end, after Missus Andy's disappearance, was that her mouth had literally rotted off after death, not an uncommon ailment among lower ranks of Scourge who were raised with far less powerful necromancy. She was comfortable with this misconception. The reality was she'd cut her lips nearly off when she was alive, the night before her wedding.

Her goal was to become as unattractive as possible and perhaps give Oliver the impression that she was crazy, or far more damaged than he surmised. She didn't finish, exactly, but lost too much blood and collapsed in the middle of her work, so that pieces of her lips would heal and regenerate, although she could never press them closed after that.

Oliver found her there when he'd come home from work and stole his family's only horse to get her to a physician. The animal died shortly after—he'd run it to death. If his family ever liked her, and she never believed they did, they certainly didn't after that.

And yet, much to her shock and dismay, Oliver's feelings for her remained as they always were. He didn't care that she was ugly or mad. The wedding proceeded as planned, except that the dizzy, anemic bride kept the veil over her face for the entirety of the small service.

The door crashed violently open, startling Lisys and compelling her to draw her kerchief around her face and make another hasty struggle to sink further into the corner. Negate stepped in slowly, the fel green glow of his eyes casting an eerie light that made her wonder, for a moment, if she wasn't having another waking dream. She kept perfectly quiet and sat absolutely still; he had to pull his wand off of his belt to pick her out of the other dim, lifeless shapes she so easily receded into.

Lisys remained completely motionless, even as he was looking right at her, as a rabbit hiding from a hawk, with one hand behind her head, evidently holding the back of her mask. This scene—his shy, mopey companion secluding herself in sad, long shadows—was so familiar that he instantly forgot all the tension of his urgent search. He wasn't even startled by her appearance.

"Did that come untied?" the warlock asked softly as he approached. "Do you need help with it?"

Suddenly, Negate's voice seemed like the most soothing sound in the world. She didn't answer, just dipped her head forward to expose the back of her mask. He kneeled beside her and took the ties from her hand, allowing her arm to flop to the ground, and tied it tightly for her.

"Are you going to tell me what happened back there?" he asked, repeating the knot. "What did he mean by _how's the baby?_"

Lisys shook her head, eyes downcast. "You don't want to know..." she mumbled weakly.

Negate shifted, taking a seat beside her, but not touching her. "I don't want to know, or you don't want me to know?"

Suddenly uncomfortable, life returned to her limp body and she began to fiddle with her clothes. They were too small now, all at once, even though she'd worn them for weeks. She changed her clothing to impress him—what was she thinking? She tugged at the worn leather impatiently, wishing to stretch the material. "It's gross..."

"What's gross?" he drummed his fingers on the floor, tilting his head in an attempt to see her face, momentarily forgetting her masks underneath her hair.

She shook her head. "I disgust you enough as it is."

"No... well," Negate's eyebrows knitted together on his forehead. "I'm honestly curious. I won't say anything, hm?"

She shook her head again, dropping her face into her knees. "Why are you so curious...?"

"You've listened to my entire life story, but won't tell me anything about yours." All pretense of good humor left his tone as the warlock began to earnestly worry. While generally depressed, Lisys was usually very agreeable as well. She would at least dodge questions she was uncomfortable with—a flat refusal was off-color.

Lisys thought on this half-truth for a moment before peeking out at the elf over her knees. "You told me about your friends and family... never your fiancee."

Negate smiled a little, meeting her eyes. "All right—do you want to trade? Ask me anything, however personal or embarrassing or difficult."

The undead briefly considered passing, but a specific question she'd never had the heart to ask had been bothering her since he'd first mentioned his fiancee back in the Kingdom of Quel'Thalas. Before she'd finished thinking it through, she suddenly burst, "Why were you and... and Adel very _off and on_?"

The elf's smile faded. She asked in such a quick, targeted way, as if she meant harm by the question. She scoffed at his hesitation.

"It's not really that easy, is it?" she asked gloomily.

"I never said it was easy—I'm going to answer, just give me a minute..." he ran a hand over his hair, taking a deep breath. "Adel had lots of... problems."

Slowly, Lisys lowered her knees, interest piqued. The question she'd asked was shaping up to be more complicated than she thought.

"Not that I cared," he added, shaking his head. "Or at least, I wouldn't have... the real trouble was that she couldn't get along with my sister, not even when she was a baby. Adel was... she needed constant attention. My father sent money—tons of money—but I never wanted there to be any reason anyone could say that I was not responsible enough to take care of my sister, so I worked all the time. And when I wasn't working, I was ensuring that I was there for Negatory, and when I wasn't working or raising my sister, I was asleep.

"Adel _hated _my sister like I never thought possible, given that my sister was a mere _child. _But growing children require lots of attention, and Adel resented that openly. As a matter of fact, Adel was just... an angry, hateful person.

Once, we had a heated argument over something wildly inappropriate she'd said to Daynha—another elf she never much liked—and I had to leave in the middle of it. I had work to do. She graciously offered to forget the whole incident and babysit, and I was so exhausted, I let her. While I was gone, she told my seven-year-old sister that our father wasn't around because _he couldn't stop thrusting his dick into strange women—"_

Lisys winced, absorbing herself so far into the story, she'd completely forgotten that she would need to reciprocate with one of her own. That type of language was so far out of context that the statement left her eyes wide underneath her leather mask.

"—Adel said that, verbatim_, _to my baby sister. I _never _would have known how to explain that to a wide-eyed innocent if it weren't for Rachel, Light bless that woman, and I don't say that often."

Negate paused, rubbing his forehead with his sleeve. The tension behind the decade-and-a-half old story still ran so high that it almost made him sweat. He swallowed before continuing.

"But I loved her, very, very much. When times were good, they were great, and whenever I left her, Adel was very good at... at making me feel as if I'd driven a nail in her coffin. She'd come from a rough place. I had a lot of sympathy for her... and she needed me. Probably... easily as badly as Negatory did. So I always took her back again, thinking that I could separate them better, that I could fix her someday and it wouldn't be a problem.

"Besides that, the sex was amazing," he chuckled lightly, his laugh picking up gusto when Lisys, much to his surprise, joined in with a small, unsteady giggle. "I know that it's a foolish thing to factor given all the heartache she caused, but I was young and over-worked. They say that the crazy ones are the best, and it is _absolutely true."_ Finishing the story, he focused his gaze back on Lisys, who had moved closer, until their shoulders were touching, without his notice.

The undead stared directly at his face, despite his looking back at her, fascinated by his honesty. She thought it more than admirable, in fact, she held it up as a god-like trait, something she would never come to possess so perfectly, but that she could only adore and strive toward. She felt as if there was nothing he wouldn't tell her, or perhaps even anyone else, because he'd made peace with all of this in some essential way that allowed him to grieve losses but see them for what they were—people, imperfect, both good and evil—and discuss them without guilt or great sorrow.

"Well?" he asked, reaching behind her to tug on her kerchief, checking the knot.

Wrapped up in this strange, adoring mood, she began before she could stop herself. "I was pregnant when I died," but she concluded the sentence with a gasp, and smacked her hand over her own mouth. Immediately she felt foolish—this great philanthropist who'd come to comfort her in her desperate hour of need was actually wearing a disguise—beneath it was Negate, whom she'd grown accustomed to, but was still destined to mock her in light of any unsavory detail. She returned her eyes to the ground.

The warlock nudged her gently in the side, careful to keep his voice even. In fact, there were certain lines he was not quite insensitive enough to cross—this was one of them. "I'm sorry."

Lisys drew her knees up into her body again, a sob escaping her lungs. As someone who'd never wanted children, who never cared for the _thing _growing inside of her even while she was alive, it had never occurred to her how deeply Oliver's blatant disregard for her feelings had cut. She'd already started, and if he would be disgusted, he already should be—there was no point in refusing to continue.

"I... I had it removed," she managed, covering her face with her hands, obscuring even her masks from view as she cried quietly, "sh- shortly after... after the Awakening... at the Undercity, when it was new... I do- don't remember, bu- but I'm sure I did..."

Negate's ears lost rigidity and folded over. Doing his best to be non-invasive, he slipped an arm around her shoulders and pushed lightly, laying her head limply on his shoulder. She didn't fight.

"... b- but e- even though I know it's g- gone... I have... I have strange dreams," she swallowed, calming herself momentarily as his warmth penetrated his robes and her masks and touched her face. "Where the... where the Scourge come to me and... and ask for it... the baby... like I owe it to them... and they scare me," her voice cracked, little more than a high pitched squeal, and she had to swallow to become intelligible again. "Even though I know they're not real, and that what they ask for doesn't exist, and I told Oliver all about it once, when I couldn't take it anymore, and he knows it scares me, and... he brings it up whenever he's bothered by me, to get me to go away..." Her voice went suddenly hoarse and she squeezed her eyes closed and turned her face into his robes, shoulders heaving.

"... I'm sorry..." Negate whispered, laying his head atop hers briefly. "You haven't done anything to deserve to be tortured like that."

One of her hands had edged up his back, fingers curling in his robes. "You probably think he's a jerk, don't you?" she asked, making a small sniffling sound, even though it was unnecessary—for the dead, crying was merely a motion with none of the usual physical symptoms. "Well, he's not. _You're _a jerk. Oliver is perfect... or he would have been, if I hadn't wasted his entire life.

"He did everything right, and I mean everything. He was wonderful. I... don't even know how I can begin to explain... except to tell you that I wasn't like I am now. I was worse..." her body slackened a moment, until Negate thought his companion would literally slide to the floor if he did not tighten his grip around her.

"Worse?" he questioned tentatively.

"I wasn't suicidal," she answered, vaguely aware that she hadn't really answered his question, or that she was starting to make less sense. "I didn't want to die, or anything too dramatic... I just wanted to be left alone. I never wanted to do anything, either, anything at all—most of these aren't my teeth, I had them replaced after I died, because so many of my teeth fell out. I couldn't be bothered to brush them except when Oliver did it for me, and he did, as often as he could."

Negate listened quietly, eyebrows furrowing. She'd rambled at him in a similar fashion once before, when he jokingly told her he wanted to die and join the Scourge, but while that was more frantic and jumbled, this was more listless and sad, with the slur of a drunk. It was nearly frightening enough for him to interrupt her, but this insight into her life was so rare and so precious—something he'd never even realized he wanted—that he held his tongue.

"I just wanted to lie in a corner, in a gross lump, and be left alone, until I... stopped existing. I imagined, often, that I was melting into nothing, and I could spend hours, or days in this dream, and I was... honestly mean..." she swallowed, her voice quivering, "honestly mean to Oliver if he interrupted it. Cruel, even. And when I was _with it_ I lied," she paused there, long enough for Negate to worry about her health. The warlock nudged her lightly, sighing in relief when she moved weakly, of her own will, on his shoulder.

"What do you mean?" he asked gently, rubbing her shoulder.

"Have you ever known a liar?" she asked pointedly.

Negate was comforted slightly by the strength in her tone. "Lisys, we're all liars."

"I mean a real liar!" she insisted pseudo-passionately, her other hand reaching up to grab his shoulder, clutching his robes in all ten fingers, begging him to understand. "Someone who lies about everything, all the time, even when there's no real benefit? That was me! I was maddening, I had to have been... If I was ever in my right mind, I was terrified, I don't know why, or of what, just always scared, always, always... so I lied, even if I knew I'd get caught, even if... even if I knew the lie couldn't stand! If I made dinner, and he asked what I was cooking, I would lie about it! I'd tell him I was peeling potatoes when he was over my shoulder and could plainly see I was stirring a soup!

If he asked me the time, I'd lie and make him late to work, and I got worse and worse and lied more and more as time went on, and he was always so patient, never angry, until the very end, until I got pregnant..." her voice dropped several octaves and lost all color, and her fingers relaxed. By contrast, Negate held Lisys more tightly, and with both arms.

"I left the house for the first time in years," she droned as if possessed, with no vocal inflection whatsoever, and stranger still, tilting her head back to stare Negate directly in the face. "I went to see a rumored witch just outside of town who sold tonics to traveling whores and told her I wanted to get rid of it. One of Oliver's friends saw me go there and told him, and he confronted me about it. First I lied about going, then I told him the baby wasn't his, and so on... until he lost it and smacked me across the face." And just as suddenly, Lisys returned to normal, clutching her warm companion and crying into his shoulder.

"I never even thought about him, never once!" the rogue bawled, her blubbering scarcely making sense. "Our entire marriage, I thought only of myself and my selfish need to be left alone while he worked his hands to the bone trying to make me happy! I owe him everything, Negate, everything..."

Her words finally disintegrated completely, and he held her quivering figure against his body with no constraint, laying his head atop hers and whispering in her ear, over her cries, a soothing, universal "Shhh, shhh..." until she'd calmed enough to talk to.

"Lisys..." he breathed over her weakening frame, "You were ill, you were ill, anyone in their right mind could have seen that... you were ill before he married you... if he didn't take into consideration all possibilities, if he didn't think about what he was getting himself into, that isn't your fault..."

"But it _is _my fault," she insisted shakily, sniffling hard, "I was an adult, I shouldn't have been so selfish, I..."

He ran a hand over her hair, stiff and straw-like, consistent with a once impoverished, malnourished human, too desolate to even wash it. Its texture stuck splinters through his heart. "No, no it's not. Trust me... we'll leave here again tomorrow, we'll go a long way south, and you won't even have to think about this man anymore."

His promises to continue traveling in her company failed to arouse the same elation they usually did. In fact, she didn't answer him at all, but instead cried herself to sleep like that, upright in his arms.

/SET LOCATION: BRILL

While Vaschel snored drunkenly in the bed next to her, Phasilica tossed and turned, caught in the throes of a bitter-sweet dream, a scene from only a few years ago, when Sylvannas had barely finished construction on the great Undercity, a capital stolen from the Scourge.

It had always been the Dark Lady's intention to reach out to her people, or those who were once her people, however she viewed them, but she could not risk abandoning her throne frivolously. The Banshee Queen needed loyal agents strong enough to cross the Plaguelands, but that also spoke Thalassian fluently enough to teach the elves Orcish and coerce them into the Horde while simultaneously aiding to rebuild cities and care for their wounded.

Phasilica was a good candidate, and one of the first to make the journey. She set out alone, knowing there would be others behind her, clutching a skeletal horse's lead and a small bag of supplies.

They were even worse then, with a thick, unholy smog reducing visibility until she hardly knew where she was heading, except that she needed to move north.

She was startled, then, to hear a soft, curious sound just a small distance ahead, what she would have known to be a child's laugh except that she was not quite herself yet. Part of her mind still lied with the Scourge despite her abhorrence for them. The priestess moved toward what she thought, in her delusion, was a small animal with the intent to _shut it up._ She raised her staff, prepared to strike it in the skull, even as a toddler began to materialize, until she caught sight of the little girl's ears.

She was looking at a half-elf, so startling a rarity that Phasilica lowered her weapon, and observed the dark-haired tot more closely as she happily played in the red dirt, oblivious to all danger, even as she spotted the tall Forsakenness baring over her.

And they watched one another that way for what seemed like an eternity, but was only a second and a half, until the tiny halfling stood, uneasy at first, and tossed her arms around Phasilica's ankles. A rush of emotion the priestess scarcely remembered flooded her all at once, and in a hasty motion she bent and took the girl into her arms, lifting her off the ground and squeezing her tightly.

But it couldn't last. The exaggerated movements cleared away some of the red dust, and Phasilica realized she was surrounded by plated warriors—some of them paladins, all of them human—and was only still _alive_ because of the baby in her arms.

Then a female, an older woman but fit for her age, stepped forward, helmet on her hip, unashamed of her white hair, and motioned for her party to stand down. Phasilica recognized the woman immediately.

"You can still talk to me, can't you?" the woman asked, a ridiculous smile on her face, where it had always been. Suddenly she thrust her hand forward. "Maria Xanthic! And you are? Boy, you look familiar."

Phasilica did not take the hand, choosing instead to clutch the cooing child harder. "So do you," she returned smoothly, coldly.

"Haha! Yeah, well," the woman smiled, cocky for an older lady, "my maiden name—yes, I was a maiden once!—was Crysis. It was a very well-respected family, and my brother was very famous among paladins, if you happened to know any. One of the best! But anyway, my posse has happened on a survivor, a very, very sick man. We've been needing a healer, a priest sounds about right, and I'll bet you know more about the plague than anyone! So, shall we?" she asked, then leaned forward and added quietly, "if it helps you make up your mind, I'm going to have to kill you if you don't help us. No hard feelings, but it's what I do—fight the undead, you know?"

Phasilica leaned backward, offended by the whiskey on the woman's breath, and nodded her head quietly.

"Great!" Maria exclaimed, holding her arms out. "But I must ask that you give me the baby."

Reluctantly, Phasilica attempted to relinquish the child to Maria, but the half-elf would not release her robes. Much to the forsakenness's surprise, Miaria laughed and said, "Ah, well, I guess she likes you!" and allowed Phasilica to remain in possession of the baby as she lead the priestess back to her camp, another holy warrior taking her horse's lead behind them.

They walked a short distance, to the group's camp, and from there Maria and Phasilica entered a makeshift shelter tall enough to stand in while the remainder of the escort remained outside.

To the immediate right of the entrance sat an old, humorless mage with bandages wrapped around his face, diagonally over his left ear and circling around his right cheek as to obscure one eye, or rather one socket, as Phasilica happened to know that Sihner Xanthic had ripped his brother's eye out of his head when they were teenagers in the throes of a particularly vicious argument.

Toward the back of the shabby structure, half-shack, half-tent, lie the failing body of Vaschel Dauntlight. Phasilica thought she might have fainted, except that Maria grasped her arm and physically pulled her to the dying paladin and sat her down beside him.

The half-elf, once so desperate to remain with Phasilica, had a sudden change of heart and launched herself onto Vaschel's chest, instead, tugging on his silver hair. He moaned, barely lucid, and turned away, causing the tot a squeal of delight.

Maria learned over Phasilica's shoulder, watching the priestess work, and began talking once more, as Phasilica had expected, having never witnessed the woman be silent for longer than a few minutes her entire life.

"She likes him, isn't that cute? Probably because he's the only being she's seen with ears and eyes at all like hers, being half high-elf. She's actually my niece's daughter, named Angel, after my other niece Angelina. Now Phasilica—oh, that's my niece—now Phasilica _said _she adopted her, but given the mysterious nine-month vacation she took before she appeared with this baby, I'd guess she was having an affair."

Phasilica grit her teeth, laying her hand on Vaschel's face, but to no avail. Producing no heat herself, he felt warm no matter what—she hadn't any frame of reference, and behind her, Maria was chipping away at her nerves.

"Not that it matters! I loved my nieces, and I love my great-niece, but it's an awfully sad story, isn't it? I have no idea who the girl's father is, or I'd—"

"Do you ever shut your mouth!" Phasilica demanded suddenly, more bitterly than she intended. She was thankful when Avery Xanthic intervened before his wife could speak again.

"I believe the heathen needs to focus," he offered in a thick, emotionless baritone. "Go outside, Maria. I'll watch her."

With a quick, embarrassed apology, the paladin excused herself and left the dwelling. As soon as the door was shut, Avery Xanthic laughed stiffly, heartlessly.

"This must be so awkward for you, Phasilica," he mocked darkly, leaning forward.

The priestess was reaching out to touch Angel's head to compare her to Vaschel, but upon hearing her own name, not in a story but directly addressing her, she stopped for a moment, every dead muscle in her body tightening, but just as suddenly she resumed. "I'm not sure what you're—"

"I won't rat on you," he interrupted heartlessly, "if you do me a favor. That man is dying, isn't he?"

Phasilica inhaled audibly, feeling Vaschel's forehead burning in comparison to Angel's.

"Yes. There is nothing to be done," she answered stiffly.

"Then the best thing for him is to die in his homeland. Isn't that where you're going?" he waited for her to nod, then stood—slowly, due to painful, crackling arthritis—and cleared his throat before continuing in the same monotone. "But Maria wouldn't hear anything of it. I'm going to slip out for a few minutes, I'll make sure your horse is right out front. You have that long to get him out of here."

Then he started for the door, and Phasilica turned quickly, shouting after him, "Only if you promise to take Angel out of here, this is no place for—!" but he'd shut the door on her. With a cold sigh she drew a small bag of coins off of her belt and secured it to the toddler's wrist as she smacked Vaschel's chest, eager for another reaction.

Phasilica leaned in to his face, hissing almost hatefully. "You're so stupid. You forsook the light, I can feel it. This disease would not be a problem if—"

"But how couldn't I..." he returned hoarsely, more awake then she realized much to the toddler's delight, "...after it forsook you?"

She sat upright again, watching his dim eyes blink as he turned his attention to the squealing child, almost insignificant on his broad chest.

"What an... ugly kid... cute... though..." he managed before falling back into complete darkness.

Phasilica woke up, quickly sitting upright in her bed, a jar of a special herb rolling on to the floor. Supposedly, the root of a rare tree could force the type of past recollections the undead normally would have randomly, a rumor the priestess felt she had confirmed. Unfortunately it wasn't the type of information she was hoping to remember—instead, she was trying to bring forth images of life with the Scourge, trying to remember if her sister was there.

Now all she could think about were her children—Leland who wouldn't talk to her, and Mason who was dead at Vaschel's hands, Maybel who was stillborn, Angel who'd certainly never left the Plaguelands alive, and... strangely, Lisys came to mind.

Phasilica stood suddenly, quietly moving to the window, compelled to think only of Lisys, because it was easier than dwelling on the other four, and whispered, out loud to herself,

"Negate, I hope you're treating her well."

*END CHAPTER 29*

**Theanon: **Oh, well, allow me to get really cocky here again.

**Rhamana:** Heeeey I remember you. I'm glad you got caught up (; maybe some more regular updates will keep you up.

**Hybrid:** You... basically got your wish hahaha. Could it have turned out any better?

**(everyone):** I've been in a very write-more-of-this-FF mood, and I intend to keep on that track. So I'm comfortable making another guess as to when the next chapter will be up... I'd say two to three weeks, no longer.

So, did anyone change their mind about Oliver? XD


	33. Chapter 30

*BEGIN: CHAPTER 30*

/SET LOCATION: DEATHKNELL

"Shit, shit, shit!" Negate's cry cut through the low, agonized moans of low-level Scourge and even silenced them momentarily, his ponytail tossing as he flailed against the approaching hand of Eliza Callen. Unsuccessful, the rough, cold skin of the youthful leather worker came to rest against his left eye carefully, and in that instant he changed his mind.

"Oh... it feels kind of nice, actually," Negate decided, reaching up to grasp her wrist, holding it steady.

"That's because it's cold, you big _baby_," Eliza scowled, fiddling through her pocket with her free arm. She produced a small vial filled with a red liquid and thrust it at his chest. "Here, it's the best I can do for you. What the hell were you thinking, anyway?"

Negate scoffed, feeling more and more himself as the dizziness faded away. "A man can't treat someone like trash after spending his entire life with her, whatever the circumstances. There's just no excuse for it. Calling someone to you only to kick them in the face is wrong in any case, but especially because they were married! It makes me ill thinking about it. He owed her an apology, that's all there is to it." In a moment of passion, he moved to stand, but Eliza prevented him with a quick hand on his shoulder, and he fell back into place on the local blacksmith's porch.

"And you were going to extract one from him?" Eliza asked, unable to help a small laugh.

Negate smirked, too. "I was hoping he'd be more agreeable than he was."

"Well, let this be a lesson to you: Deathguards aren't agreeable." The health potion had reduced the swelling around the elf's eye, and Eliza removed her hand from his face to help him stand instead. "You're lucky he didn't break your nose. Where is she?"

Negate steadied himself, sighing in relief when he did not fall. "The inn," he pointed, "asleep. She's had... quite the night. If you'd come to see her, you ought to wait."

"It's a good thing I did, isn't it? But... I don't have the time. Tell her that she doesn't owe me for the clothes anymore, tell her that someone else... well... just tell her that she doesn't owe me, all right?"

"I'll deliver the message," Negate agreed, rubbing the back of his neck. It was violently stiff. "And, Miss Callen."

The undead paused only a few steps away, turning to face him neutrally. "Yes?"

"Thank you. We didn't start on the right foot before."

Eliza erupted into a short, ambiguous cackle without reply and continued on her way.

Negate said nothing to anyone else as he ventured back into the inn, and the Forsaken, being an apathetic sort of people, said nothing to him. Once up the stairs, there was nearly no light to speak of and he felt his way down the hall to the last door, cracked it open carefully, and used his wand to peek inside.

He could barely make out two or three stringy strands of thick, cord-like hair spread out on the pillow, the comforter at least up to her forehead from what he could see in the dark. His original intentions were to take a chair from the wall, but after observing her a moment, he changed his mind. Instead, he quietly closed the door and laid on the floor in the hallway, head in his arms. It was ghastly uncomfortable.

/ SET LOCATION: THERAMORE ISLE

"Where are you going to take me for Children's week? Hmm? Hmm? Hmm?" Angel ran a half-circle around Leland's feet as he sat at the edge of a non-functioning fountain. "It's coming riiight up!"

Leland, droopy-eyed and slow to process, rubbed the side of his face a moment before answering. "Children's Week is for orphans. You're with your next-of-kin now, so you're not an orphan."

"What? Really? Awwwhh," the half-breed sat a moment on the stone, back to the docks only several yards away, wiggling her toes uncomfortably in her boots. "I need new shoes!"

Reminded of footwear, Leland dug around his boot for a flask. "What's wrong with those?"

"Too small!"

"That's impossible."

"Children grow quickly," Adel interjected, sitting on the opposite side of the fountain, bent over to examine a heavy book in her lap. She daintily licked a manicured finger and turned the page. "It's not even in here..."

Finding nothing, Leland sat upright and pinched Angel's small foot with his pointer and thumb, hunting for her toes. "I'll be damned, they _are_ too small... That's Xanthic, with an X."

She turned a moment to snarl at the back of Leland's head, then bent again to turn back several pages. "Now that I think about it, the name sounds familiar..."

"Can't imagine how a low-caliber elf ranger would know it," he bent, lifting the small child into his lap to help her untie her shoes. "Sihner Xanthic was a decorated Knight of the Silver Hand, so, if you're really a dragon, perhaps..."

A heavy thud sounded behind the man and child, startling Angel into kicking Leland's arm.

"Ohhh, _sunwell, _I _totally _know him," the blonde groaned, covering her face in horror. "My street-harlot sister was _so _sleeping with him, ohhh my liiiight. He's not, like, related to these people, is he?"

"What's a street—" Angel began, but was interrupted.

"Okay, so, like," Leland clicked his tongue against the back of his teeth obnoxiously, "Avery Xanthic is _totally _Sihner's brother, and then he married Maria, which like, makes her his sister-in-law."

"Ugh, shut _up," _the elf scoffed, standing and bending to collect the heavy book once more. "It doesn't even matter, says right here, Maria and Av—?"

"Averrsion, Avery is a nickname. They're all named like that—don't ask, I don't get it either."

Angel incessantly tugged at Leland's arm until he resumed untying her boots, then leaned against him contently.

"Whatever. Anyway, it looks like they had a son?"

"Ex. He's in the Scarlet Crusade... and I don't like him."

"Okaaaay, and then... I don't even know what this is supposed to mean," Adel held the book closer to her face, squinting. "And it's kinda smudged..."

Leland managed to free the child's feet and handed the small boots to her. Delighted, she attempted to squirm to the ground, but was prevented by her patron. "Damnit, quit squirming, don't go nowhere. Who the hell knows what's on this street? Broken bottles and shit probably," he then turned his head to Adel, still hard at work decoding the town registry, and growled. "If you can't fuckin' see it, bring it over here already. Holy light, you women are getting on my last damn nerve."

With an eye-roll, the ranger strode around the fountain and bent again—much to the delight of an admiring guard she'd attracted by bending the first time—to show him the page.

"Adel, are you really a dragon?" Angel kicked, placing her hands on the book in an attempt to pull herself up to see Adel's face better.

"A... what? Where did you even get that idea?" Adel frowned.

"Girl, sit still before I dump you and break your head open on the stone," Leland snarled, using a finger to scroll through the endless stream of names. "Damnit, elf, fucking hold it steady!"

"I am fucking holding it steady!" Adel bit back, a vein popping in her right temple. "You're _probably _still drunk from last night, you useless ass!"

"Oh, this is... this is Jibreel, she was... sort of adopted by them, for a while... it doesn't matter. She joined the Scarlet Crusade, too," Leland concluded, leaning back against the fountain.

"Jibreel? I know her! I like her!" Angel resumed wriggling, turning to face Leland. "I want to go live with her! Drop me off with her!"

"Sorry, kiddo, it looks like you're stuck with us," Adel, slapped the book shut thoughtfully, tracing the stitching in the leather. This news was disappointing—she'd honestly intended to ensure her niece was placed safely with relatives, as her brother would have wanted it, and then immediately end her life. Now, it seemed she needed to stay around a little longer to ensure Leland could take adequate care of her.

"Actually," Leland scratched his jaw thoughtfully, his stubble audibly raking rough fingers. Eager to be useful, Angel reached up to help, gently itching the side of his face. "We need to talk."

Adel's pupils contracted and she violently averted her gaze from the sky to his eyes. "Don't tell me you're skipping out on..."

"Your brother is alive," Leland interrupted her. "Actually, both of them are. I'm absolutely certain."

The ranger stared a while, expecting him to say more. When he did not, she answered in a flat, unamused tone. "No they aren't."

"Yes, they are," Leland pressed. Sensing some tension, Angel stopped moving.

"What makes you think that?" Adel laughed tightly, almost nervously. It was a struggle to abstain from hope in the face of such great promise; the idea that her sisters could have all died off, but her brothers survived, was a waking dream.

"I kept in some loose contact with your nephew."

"Jezebel?" she narrowed her eyes at the warrior, thoughtful. "And… he says my brothers are alive?"

"I last heard from him... less than a year ago," Leland set his hand on Angel's head absentmindedly, voice quieting. The circumstances surrounding the entire situation were difficult; the sort of things he usually pushed from his consciousness. "My younger brother joined the Scarlet Crusade with Jibreel and Ex," he nodded toward the book in Adel's hands, "and went looking for Phasilica to end her existence as an undead. Vaschel ended _him_ instead."

"You're lying," Adel accused, insensitive to his loss. "If Vaschel were alive, I think he'd come looking for his own daughter."

Angel shook her head free of Leland's hand and began to wiggle again, tugging on his shirt. "Huh? What are you guys talking about? Is my dad alive!"

"_Adel," _Leland hissed with restrained violence, "Let's not say anything until we know everything for certain, all right? Dumb tart."

"Well why not? You seemed so sure just a second ago," she hissed back.

The warrior covered the child's ears, and she twisted violently to free herself. "I am _not_ certain he even knows he has a daughter," Leland glowered at her, already concocting ways to explain the situation to Angel without making her hopeful. The longer he took to find the solution, the angrier he became. "Jezebel insisted he'd never tell, not after Mason's death."

"Well, wouldn't her whore-mother say something if you're so sure she's up walking around!" Adel demanded, knuckles turning white as she clutched the book.

Leland stared at the ranger in stunned silence, then quickly released Angel's ears and patted her back with one hand, pointing with his other. "Okay, go into that building and ask the nice lady to help you find some new shoes, okay? And watch where you're going; don't step in anything. I mean it."

Angel whined, kicking a little. "But you haven't even told me—"

"_Go," _he insisted with such firmness that she winced and gave no further argument, promptly disappearing. He watched her go, then stood quickly, scarcely able to contain himself.

"Woman, have you gone completely fucking _insane_? I have a very, very low opinion of light-gushing hypocrites who can't keep their hands off of other men's wives, and if there is anyone who gives me a run for my money as a deadbeat, or is less-deserving of air and the few cubic meters of space he consumes, it's Vaschel-fucking-Dauntlight, but I'm not about to talk like that in front of his _daughter._"

"Excuse you!" Adel rose to her toes, snarling fearlessly at his face. "But if you were soooo sure that my brother, who is a _good person _thank you very much, is alive, why haven't we been looking for him first!"

"Because your people are animals and they abandon half-breeds all the time; don't even look at me like you don't understand that."

Adel rose her voice over his—even the admiring guard had turned away, feeling awkward. "Augh, you are such an _asshole! _He would never, _ever _abandon a child, anyone's child! He was taking care of my older sisters while he was still a child himself and he helped raise my _fiance's _sister! A selfish ass like you couldn't even begin to understand the kinds of sacrifices he made, you fucking _jeeerk! _Not that any of it matters, because he's _DEAD!_"

Leland leaned back, stunned a moment as she panted in his face. He took a deep breath and signaled for her to do the same. When she took a step back he continued, much calmer. "Did you personally see Vaschel's body?"

"Well, no. But he's gone, I just know it..." she lifted her left pigtail to twirl the end, staring at the ground. For all her confrontational strength a moment ago, she was scarcely able to face him now.

"That is the stupidest thing you've ever said," Leland groaned, rubbing his forehead, ears ringing, head throbbing. "Return the damn book to Master Alder. We'll have to talk about this more some other time. I have to go buy some fucking shoes now."

Frowning, the elf strode quickly away, short skirt bouncing against long, tan legs. Her head felt full, even though she wasn't thinking of anything, and she wandered into the tallest tower, a library-like structure where the magi and other intellectuals conferred, ghost-like and easily missed. Her brief, forced interaction with Horace Alder as she returned his records, however, jarred her back into the physical realm so that on the way out, she noticed things she'd previously thought nothing of.

Portal Mistress Ysuria stood behind her table speaking to another elf, instead of in front, watching the sky through the door as she usually preferred. They were poring over some papers together, or he was; Ysuria was actually poring over him. The subject of her gaze was largely unimpressive, except that he had a curtain of jet-black hair she'd recognize anywhere.

The ranger paused on the spiral stairway with several feet between her and the floor, narrowing her eyes as she leaned over the railing. He gestured with his hands as he spoke freely with Ysuria, evidently an acquaintance of his, and spoke clearly. Confirming he wasn't some figment of her imagination, she skipped the remaining stairs entirely, instead launching herself over the railing and landing squarely in a crouch on the other side of the table.

Startled, the magi both stepped back and stared in stunned silence.

Adel stood immediately, pointing an accusing finger. "You! _You! _I should have known you'd stay with the humans, treacherous, dishonorable...!"

Cevian lifted both eyebrows, speaking gently, as one might to an insane person. "Young lady, have we met?"

"Like, twice, but that'snot important! I at least have a reason to be out here, or I'd defect right now. But you—_you! _You're just too good for Quel'Thalas, aren't you? Do you feel _guilty _at all that your family died in the Third War while you were fraternizing in Dalaran with—"

Cevian smacked his hand over her mouth and held it, tightly, turning to the portal trainer with a polite smile. "Ah, you again? ...I beg your pardon, Ysuria. This poor creature believes she is pregnant with my child and has been harassing my wife and I for weeks now. Lost her husband recently, fell away from her meditation schedule; the arcane craze is too much for her. No one witnessed this incident, I trust your business will fair fine—I'll take care of her. Many apologies."

"Of course, Master Voidbreaker. She _must _be mad to consider rejoining our hedonistic... brothers. I have nothing but pity for her," the portal trainer answered politely but stiffly, and her hateful gaze trained on the ranger suggested otherwise.

Without another word, Cevian yanked Adel from the building and half tossed her onto the street. The ranger lost her balance and collapsed onto her back; the man was stronger than he looked.

"Do you want to be thrown in prison?" Cevian snarled angrily, a vein pulsing in his fist as he bent to pull her to her feet again. "If you want to discuss homesickness, keep it out of mixed company and avoid words like _defect._ Halfwit." He pushed her forward, again violently. "On your way and watch your tongue.

She turned to face him once more, furious. "Well, you never answered my question! Doesn't it bother you that your son is dead?"

He sighed, irritated, though he pitied her enough to entertain her a while longer. "Young lady, you have me confused with someone else. I can assure you, my son is very much alive."

/ SET LOCATION: BRILL

Phasilica used her sleeve to clear a small circle in the foggy window, frowning. After all of Vaschel's whining, _I'm bored, this is boring, why'd you ask for my help if you were going to make me sit around all day, and so on,_ she intended to take him with her for the first time that morning. She'd still offer, but reluctantly; inviting him out in this weather was just begging him to act prima donna about his hair.

"Hey."s

Because she wasn't expecting him to wake so early, Phasilica started, turning quickly to face the paladin, sitting up on his bed.

He rubbed his eyes and yawned, then reached for a glass of water on his nightstand. "Did you mean that ugly girl?"

"I beg your pardon?" Phasilica turned back to the window, expressionless. It was really pouring.

"Last night, you were talking to yourself, weren't you? You said something like, _I hope he treats her okay. _You meant the ugly girl, right? Negate's new friend? I mean, not to upset you or anything, but I kinda doubt it. I love Negate whole-heartedly, but he's a real jerk, and she seems kinda stupid. I'd probably be mean to her too if I had to lead her around all the time."

Phasilica's hands flew up to clutch the window sill for fear that she may spin around and smack him across the face.

"But I can talk to him if you want me to. I'll tell him that she's... I dunno, like one of those frogs. Hahaha. She'll turn into a princess if he gives her a fat kiss. Hahaha! Hazel loved that story... hey, is it raining? Awwh man, my hair's gonna go flat..."

A slow smile spread across the undead's lips. "Would you?"

"Sure, anything for you, doll! As soon as we get back."

"Why not tell him right now? There he is," she poked the glass casually.

Vaschel nearly knocked the thin undead to the floor as he scrambled to peer out the window beside her, sighing when he discovered she was pointing at nothing. "Oh you... yooou! You know he'd hate me forever if he found out I left his sister with Dawnn, right? Haha, of course you do. You tricked me!" He set a large hand on her head, rubbing her bun until it fell apart.

Appalled, she clawed his arm like an angry cat until he withdrew, then hurried to the wall mirror to repair the damage. "We've got a big day ahead of us. Dress warm."

"But it's raining! And I don't have a lot of confidence in the Undercity barbershop. Maybe I'll stay here and keep Claire Willower warm instead," he snickered, making no moves to get dressed, instead laying back on the bed.

"Don't start. The woman will lie with anyone, really," Phasilica scoffed, retrieving her brush.

"Hah. Jealous. How would you know, anyway?"

"I've known her for some time. Even Negate slept with her when he came through here not long ago," she informed with distaste. Vaschel said nothing, but the air in the room changed quickly, and Phasilica turned to face him immediately upon finishing her hair. "Vaschel? Are you listening to me?"

Vaschel was sitting again, elbows resting on his knees, head down so that his silver hair obscured his face. "He... he told you that?"

"Is that a problem?" Phasilica's thin eyebrows arched.

He shook his head no after tossing his hair back. "No, no, of course not. I just... when I am away from home sometimes, I forget my sisters aren't waiting for me there. It's just one of those days. I feel like I should be mad at him. I'm not, of course! He can move on. I want him to. It's just... never mind."

The priestess turned back to the mirror, chewing her still-new bottom lip. She felt sorry for him. Despite her cold demeanor, empathy for him was not rare; if Phasilica was honest with herself, she would admit she'd been in love with Vaschel for nearly twenty years... when she was alive. Now that she was not, bitterness overcame nostalgia every time, and the gaping wound that was her son's untimely death outshone even thoughts of the daughter she and Vaschel had together, so much that she felt she was betraying Mason's memory to converse with his killer, much less feel for him.

And yet she could relate to this pain, and before she could stop herself, Phasilica began talking.

"When we were born, our parents couldn't tell my sister and I apart. Instead of giving one of us a piece of jewelry, or painting our toes as other parents with twins did, Avarett and Jaqlyn always referred to us collectively, as _Angelina and Phasilica, _until we were old enough to talk and pick our own names. I'm not sure how we chose, but as I grew I was a little jealous, because everyone called her _Angie _while Phasilica doesn't shorten easily.

"People who knew us, and there were few of them, said that she was more like Avarett and I was more like Jaqlyn. I hold to this day that they were wrong. We were both equal mixtures of our parents, just different mixtures. I was... am, neutral and intelligent, quiet and withdrawn, but fearless and with a strong protective instinct. Angelina was more passionate, more impulsive, adored charity work and her public image, but save for Jaqlyn herself, no one reveled in the suffering of others quite like my sister. I let her assume my identity more than once so she could turn down my suitors—broken hearts were her favorite.

"I was with Jaqlyn and Cevian when I found her body, and I knew instantly that Jaqlyn had something to do with it. There was a pair of scissors on her dresser, and I would have stabbed Jaqlyn with them if Cevian hadn't stopped me. He convinced me later that I was imagining it, that Jaqlyn had nothing to do with my sister's murder. I appreciate it, all signs pointed to suicide and he was worried about me... but if I could go back, I wouldn't let anyone convince me that the _witch _wasn't responsible."

Scarcely allowing Vaschel to digest the monstrous piece of background she'd refused to discuss until just then, despite their lengthy history, Phasilica spun back around, crossing her arms and leaning against her mirror. "Yesterday, you asked me about my sister... there you have it. Your turn."

Vaschel stared at her, blinking wide eyes frequently, as would one who is trying not to cry. "... thank you..." he swallowed, bowing his head again for a moment, taking a deep, shaky breath. "No, really. Thank you."

"Of course."

After composing himself a moment, he lifted his head again. "Should I go in order by age, height, alphabetical by favorite color...?" he smiled, suddenly as cheerful as ever. "I know you think I'm flaky, but I can remember everything about all seven in _stunning _detail. In fact, we may never get out of here."

Phasilica opened her mouth to answer, but stopped when a familiar voice outside in the hallway caught her attention. Both she and the elf turned to the door, listening intently.

"_... you've got to be kidding me... it's absolutely pouring! Again! And that's normal here? Sunwell, Silverpine Forest best be more pleasant, or we're shipping off to Kalimdor—mark my words! ..."_

Vaschel gasped. "Holy light! Negate is here! You did that on purpose, you brat!" he turned to Phasilica, eyes narrowed.

"Honestly, Vaschel, I had no idea," Phasilica frowned. "Relax, the likelihood that he'll—"

Before she could finish, the door swung open.

/SET LOCATION: QUEL'THALAS, 5 YEARS AGO

Disoriented, a light-haired elf sheltered herself in what was likely the ruins of a home, but had disintegrated into no more than two heavy, ivory stone walls leaning against one another—a sort of tent. She'd hidden there for so long she had easily lost track of all time, shivering and clutching her knees to her body, waiting to join the heaps of rangers' corpses littering Thalassian Pass. The smell of death was overwhelming.

Small droplets of blood rolled lazily out of slivers and small cuts on her body as approaching footsteps set her shivering, terrified. She closed her eyes and willed them away, relaxing only when the sound subsided, and slowly opened her eyes. The elf's assessment that the danger had passed was wrong, however, and she found herself staring into a pair of unnatural yellow eyes. She screamed.

"Whoa! Relax, relax, 'umon!"

A woman, clearly undead, hung upside down from the stone shelter, face inches from Adel's. Her acid-blue hair hung filthily down from her bloodied scalp.

"I own't really work for'a Lich King anymoah. I 'ot bettah thinks'a do'en follow ordahs, ya'ow? Some elf bitch was ike, I'unno, freed us or somethin'? I own't really like your people, you know'at, but I figuah I go check'out 'iss Undacity anyway, ya'ow?"

The filthy, quivering elf rubbed her grimy, teary eyes. "S... Saiynt?"

"Yah. Anyway, it's ovah now, so you can come outa'er." The undead squirmed off of the make-shift roof, fell into the dirt on her back with an _umph,_ then climbed to her feet. It would have been a far shorter list to name all the ways Saiynt had stayed the same than try to list the ways she'd changed, but her voice was a dead giveaway. Reluctantly, Adel climbed out with the undead woman's help.

To their right, previously obscured by the stone, a very tall undead, a male, was walking alongside a creature Adel wouldn't even call undead. The man was a former acquaintanceof Adel's sister, and hadn't changed much, considering. Even while he was alive, the pigtailed blonde found him terrifying.

The creature beside him was female at one time, but something about the way it moved lead Adel to believe it was now devoid of all consciousness. Its head was bent with filthy, matted hair obscuring its face, but she believed it was once human. When the pair came to a small dip in the road, no more than a half-step in width, the male stepped over it as was normal, but the husk stopped, unable to muster the will to overcome any change in terrain, even a non-obstacle. Sihner continued two strides more before pausing to backtrack and push the vegetable-like zombie over the small crevice.

It was a wonder the creature could function enough to move at all so far from the Lich King's control. Adel turned her full attention to Saiynt once more, unable to stomach another glance at the soulless shell. "H- hey, um, listen... I- it's good to see you... sort of... you didn't happen to see my brothers on your journey back this way... did you?" she asked without much thought, nervously rubbing her arm.

Saiynt covered her pale cheeks dramatically with a mocking frown. "Oh, wow, I own't know how'ta tell ya iss... but... they dead. Yeah, I keelt 'em myself. Not that I wonted to! Nawh, was bein' controlled by'a Lich King an' all'at."

"... Y... You're sure?" Adel questioned numbly, her world falling apart for the second time.

"Yeah, yeah, lessee..." Saiynt rubbed her chin, gazing at Adel for a moment, "Tall, blonde, 'inda look like you? Yah, I'm sure. They dead. Real sorry."

Tears welled beneath her eyes, tears the ranger thought she'd already spent. "And... and m- my fiance!"

"Uh, what's he look like ugen?" the undead examined her nails heartlessly, noticing a layer of dirt and blood for the first time.

"He, um," Adel swallowed hard, then gasped for air, struggling to keep herself from hysterics. "Dark hair, ah, lots of dark hair, kind of short, my height, and—"

"Awwwh, girl, I am so sorry," Saiynt interrupted impatiently. "He dead too. Got tore apart by a whole swarm! I own't know what ta say, tough luck. Guess you gonna hafta ike, I'unno, jump off a bridge or somethin'. I own't blame ya for'it."

Adel's legs gave out and she collapsed into a heap, sobbing. Sihner, having heard the entire ordeal, bent to lift a small bag of coins from a near-by corpse, of which there were many, and tossed it to the weeping elf.

"You haven't lost everything," he advised, voice stiff and mechanical, low and artificial, so surreal it disguised the empathy behind the statement. "You have a niece somewhere—go find her."

Saiynt shot him a glare, kicking the bag of coins with frustration, before looking down at the sobbing pile once more. "Well, I still think you'll be happiah if ya kill yaself, but whatever. I ain't really got no more time to spen' heah, so I'mma go. Later. U'mon, Lisys," she slid an arm around the husk's shoulders and walked briskly away, not speaking again until the sound of Adel's cries was long gone.

"What'd'ya do'at for? Huh?" Saiynt demanded, frowning up at her companion.

Undaunted by her stare burning a hole in his head, he didn't even bother to return her gaze. "I thought you were friends."

"Nawh!" Saiynt half-shouted, clearly offended by the very idea. "She saw what 'at monster did'ta me an' she ain' said nothin'! We ain friens," a slow, mean-spirited smile crossed her thick lips. "Howevah, she _thinks_ we is."

*END: CHAPTER 30*

**(everyone): **Jeeeeze I missed my deadline by like, two months. Anyway, I've had a lot of trouble lately getting into this story. Basically, when cataclysm came out, I was anchored with this heavy feeling of irrelevance. I think that's my cue to turn my attention to original projects, however I love this fanfiction and am still committed to it. I grew a lot through the course of writing it and I imagine that I will finish it.

However, for right now Necrophilia is on hiatus. I still get updates through email that will tell me when someone has posted a review and I will respond to any PMs sent to me. Who knows, encouragement could be good for me when I prepare to get back into the swing of Ffnet..

I think that as we draw closer to the middle of cata, when there's less to do and the novelty has worn off, writing a story that essentially takes place in the past will be far more attractive. In the mean time, I need a break! I've been working on this for what, two years? ;p

In the meantime I'm authoring a comic that my fiance will draw. We're in the beginning stages of planning it; if you want to stay updated I suggest you check out his deviantart (isolitude) or mine (zombie-sue) where you'll be kept in-the-know. I'm excited to be working on my own again and writing original stories, but I certainly won't forget about Necro. If you don't lose interest, I hope to see you again in a few months to a year :)

PS; I don't take notes. I keep all the story details in my head :p Remembering large maps of characters comes naturally to me I guess.


	34. Chapter 31

*CHAPTER 31*

/SET LOCATION: THERAMORE ISLE

A seagull inched closer and closer to a pair of high elves before a high-pitched voice stole his nerve. Instead, he abruptly turned back to the sea. The cool, wet breeze was unpleasant but preferable.

"But then _why _do you care what your son does?Chord Voidbreaker's neatly-curled hair bounced as she thrust her chin into her palm, an exaggerated expression of exasperation playing out over her face. She kicked her legs, a bit too short to reach the water, as they hung over the dock.

To her left, her husband meticulously examined a piece of parchment with the eye of a professor, scrawling in the margins every now and again. To the passer-by he appeared to be grading an essay; he was, however, correcting a well-known publication. There was no particular reason except that it made him feel better, and he believed it to be good exercise. 的 don't. Not in this respect擁s that what this is all about?"

"No, I was just was accustomed to receiving only split-attention.

"I don't think it's a _good_ choice by any means. But the truth is, it's all nearly the same. Fel is a school of arcane magic, a subset; it's not a separate entity."

A dark-haired human stepped gingerly onto the shore side of the dock, far out of earshot of the two elves. Her eyes rolled side-to-side quickly, as with someone who did not expect to end her search here, but desired thoroughness. She happened to spot the couple, with some surprise, just as she was turning to leave, and corrected her course a bit clumsily.

Both elves turned instinctively, but Chord acknowledged her first with the vigor of a child encountering a worshiped role model. 典earle! I haven't seen you in so long, how are you?Her voice was shouty, even as the priestess neared.

Tearle returned with a smile of forced-warmth, put-off by her excitement but not so much as to risk hurt feelings. 笛ust fine, and yourself?She took a seat beside the tiny woman, cautious to maintain a polite distance that Chord immediately closed.

"Oh, so-so. Are you going to stay long? Teach me how to speak human! Pretty please? Cevian thinks I have no talent for it!she pouted, forcing Tearle into an awkward spot預 technique that had worked in the past.

Cevian set aside his project with a chuckle, the sound of which cleared away some of the awkwardness. 的 said no such thing. Honey, leave Tearle be. She came a long way, let her breathe."

"That's right! How is Northrend? Is it cold all over, or just in some places?Despite a marked size difference, Chord scooted Tearle up against the nearest post, her magnetic, undeniably bright smile being the only tether preventing the priestess from standing. With children, it is only appropriate to be less formal than with other adults揺owever there is no clear etiquette for child-like adults, forcing the priestess to walk an awkwardly thin line. And despite the storm of confusion she caused, Tearle could not bring herself to honestly dislike Chord.

Finally, Cevian saved her, drawing an arm around his wife's shoulders to tug the tiny, overeager elf away. 的 don't think Tearle wants to hold you in her lap, dear."

The tiny woman slid easily over the dock, leaving the priestess a comfortable space. She giggled, clearly oblivious to her friend's relief. 鉄orry! I am just so excited. I never see anyone anymore; it's very lonely."

"Some places are nice; I'm certain you've been to Dalaran. The Argent Dawn keeps me very busy, or else I would have written you. When this whole business with the Lich King is over, I'll tell you more about it. However, I practically had to beg to get away with this...the priestess reached into her satchel, retrieving a letter, then turned to Cevian. 的t was recovered off of a dead foot soldier this morning and I think it is addressed to you, believe it or not, from a Mr. Xanthic?"

Chord stretched her neck, attempting to view the letter without invading the human's personal space once more.

"A Mr. Xanthic?Cevian repeated, wrinkling his forehead. 典hat's not possible; the only Xanthic I knew would be at least 60 years old by now. Let me see it."

Tearle passed the wrinkled but unopened envelope with a light chuckle. 滴umans are perfectly capable of living that long."

"He was a shieldman,Cevian clarified, examining the handwriting on the envelope, as if verifying its authenticity before carefully opening and freeing a single, short piece of parchment covered entirely on one side in scrawl.

Chord pointed to the letter with a giggle. 鉄trider hatchling scratches. Now I can see why you didn't read it yourself, Tearle. It's not worth the trouble."

"It was none of my business,she corrected, although the humor was not lost on her.

"Common easily lends itself to poor penmanship, Chord, it's not entirely...Cevian let the sentence hang, eyebrows lifting with realization. 鄭h. That makes sense."

"What? What makes sense?Chord pressed her chubby face into her husband's shoulder, staring at the page as he flipped it over and began to scribble neatly on the back.

"Tearle, I have a favor to ask. It's at least as important as your work in Northrend and I think you'll enjoy it more."

A bit startled, Tearle set a hand on her chest. 展hy me? Don't you have students to fetch your coffee?"

Cevian flipped the page over and back over more than once, evidently checking his facts as he wrote. 滴aha, no, I need an Argent Dawn girl欄

"Woman."

痘G_irl _for this particular assignment. Neutrality is important."

Tearle rolled her eyes but smiled. The old professor's patronizing attitude was charming in that it was called for容ven the man's tiny wife was at least a decade older幼onsistent, and easily ignored. And she was becoming intrigued with the proposed favor. 展hy?"

Cevian rolled up his sleeves to avoid smearing ink as he nearly ran out of room on the parchment. 的 need you to investigate a report in Tirisfal Glades."

"Tirisfal Glades? But that isn't anywhere near where this letter was found...For the first time honestly curious about the letter's contents, the priestess leaned closer.

"Intrigued, aren't you? I thought you might be. It won't take you long, I only want you to verify that this letter isn't a hoax. From the Bulwark, travel east to a small farm, search around for anything suspicious, then report back to me. Simple."

"What might something suspicious look like? What exactly does that letter say?Tearle continued to peak over Chord, until their shoulders touched, causing her to retreat.

Chord reached out, catching Tearle by the arm and forcing her to linger a moment. 添ou should be careful! This doesn't sound safe."

Cevian set aside his pen, gently smoothing his wife's hair. 鉄he'll be fine, dear... An old, old student of mine, a gifted liar, allied herself with the Cult of the Damned. I believed her to be a redeemable victim of circumstance for a long time. That's over now, but I've lost track of her. If she still exists, I ought to take care of her."

"Who are you talking about? Why haven't I ever heard of this mystery cultist and why is an old Thalassian student your concern anyway?Chord turned abruptly to her husband, pouty and a little jealous.

"Because I taught her magic, dear, not language. She is my passed the parchment over his wife's head, to Tearle, who took it gingerly and began reading Cevian's writing on the back.

"If you see something suspicious, you'll know it immediately. The cult is, among other things, very conspicuous. I've written a few phrases there, should you run into anyone, that's all you need to say. Pronunciation is nearly the same as with the Common alphabet. However, beyond that, Gutterspeak is as similar to Common as Thalassian to Darnassian, and Common is likely illegal and largely forgotten. Do not address anyone beyond what I've written there."

Tearle nodded her head, reading the phrases written out for her with so much building excitement she forgot to try to understand them.

She always found Forsaken fascinating様argely because they were so mysterious. An entirely new culture and language exploded from her own, and yet appeared to retain no common ground. And the Forsaken themselves, a serious and unfriendly bunch, almost served as a barrier, guarding themselves closely in Lordaeron. Even the savage orcs had brought their culture to the humans through war蓉npleasant, but also unmysterious. The idea to learn about someone new was exhilarating... and yet one does not wander into enemy territory with no firm, good reason. Here was a perfectly sound reason預 favor to a friend out to redeem old mistakes.

"And because I know you will spend some time wandering and observing,Cevian continued, louder, recapturing her attention, 的 must insist you keep it short. I will go find you myself if you're not back in a week, and imagine the laugh your superiors will have when I report you dead and this all turns out to be a complicated joke anyway.

"They do keep a few humans stationed at the Bulwark傭ut venturing beyond it, as you have to, your presence _will_ offend... regardless of your Argent Dawn affiliations or intentions. Most forsaken troops of any significant strength are stationed in Northrend, but if you even accidentally injure someone you could alert the guards. So, please, avoid contact if at all possible."

"Of course, I'm not entirely out of my element here,Tearle answered, having studied many cultures蓉p close and from afar擁n her young life. At the sound of a loud, clear bell she jumped up, folding the letter neatly. 的 need to catch that ship if I'm to finish in a timely manner.

Cevian stood, catching Tearle's arm, and Chord followed suit.

"Listen, I know you've had it with caution, but I've tutored too many short-lived races and you're all similarly rash. You, too. I wouldn't ask this favor from you if I didn't believe you were capable, but I don't want any more gray hairs either, hm?"

She rolled her eyes subtly, but cracked a small smile at the same time. 的'll handle this with far more caution and delicacy than I imagine _you_ ever would."

He released her with a smirk, but the priestess had not taken another step before Chord attached herself.

"Be careful!the tiny girl cried, tears actually forming in her dramatic little eyes. 的f my husband got you killed I'd be so mad!"

"Ah... yes, I will...Tearle answered, prying the girl from her hip with soft force, lest she miss the passenger ship heading for Stormwind. Holding her robes around her ankles, she rushed aboard without looking back, passing another unfortunate high elf who appeared to have her hair caught on a wooden post. She slowed, finding the sight peculiar, and backpedaled up the plank, nearly running into a human.

"Watch it!He pushed her aside so rudely she had a mind to push back, but partly because it was outside of her personality and mostly because she noticed he had a small child at his feet, she simply shuffled to the side, as far away as the deck allowed.

"Woman!He shouted, storming back toward the dock as the bell sounded again, notifying its passengers she was preparing to depart. 的 have about had it, just cut it and get on the damn boat!"

Tearle nearly answered him, believing he was talking to her, until she again laid eyes on the unfortunate high elf on the dock, hair somehow caught on a support. The elf was wearing the smallest tunic the priestess had _ever _laid eyes on, and every time she bent to try to free her hair, Tearle unwillingly caught a flash of bright red undergarment.

"Yeah! Get on a damn boat!the child, a half-elf who Tearle assumed was theirs, howled in echo. The man keeled for a moment and shushed her, with marked gentleness, before standing to address _his wife _rudely again, and all three of them missed the ship. The whole scene made the priestess chuckle when she thought about it along the way, because they seemed to deserve each other so much. Her trip had already been eventful.

/SET LOCATION: THE ACHERUS

Nearly quivering with rage, Jaqlyn had called her three death knights and her daughter to her chambers. Saiynt did not show, and the sight of the remaining two plus Angelina did nothing to quell her temper.

"Where is Saiynt?she demanded, grinding her teeth so hard at every point she wasn't speaking, it was even audible.

"Hopefully dead for real,Abby replied with a scoff, back straight with the respect she was required to show her superior, even if it was not in her voice.

"And you!the necromancer turned on Sihner like a storm so eager to kill everyone it couldn't focus on one target long enough. 的 heard all about the letter you sent遥ou think I didn't?"

Sihner lifted an eyebrow. He was not unsettled by her behavior, if he was even capable of feeling unsettled, but he did find it curious. 添ou asked me to send it."

"I said I wanted to boast, not tell him where to find me!her voice creaked with such a hoarse sound one would expect her throat were bleeding. Her footfalls particularly heavy, she approached and cracked her bony hand across his chest plate, then snatched it back wildly. 的 am not a fool! I know exactly what you are doing!"

He did not budge, and his voice remained even, monotone, as he stared directly in her face. 的 have never pretended to understand you. You should have been more clear."

"I could fill an entire dungeon with what you don't understand! Ten of them! Twenty!in an instant she turned instead to Angelina, who had a cold, delicate hand over her mouth to obscure預lthough not effectively預 smile and a giggle.

"Jaqlyn, you should have asked me to write the letter,Angelina stated, only because she assumed she was expected to speak.

The witch returned the smile, and struggled to keep it as she crossed the room to her daughter instead. She failed, the corners of her thin lips tugging back down into twisted fury. 添ou smart little swine. I never liked you, are you aware? I'd do anything to trade you for Phasilica. You have too much Avarett in you, you little slut, ingrate, noble snob...her hands snapped around her daughter's neck like a vice as soon as she was close enough, tightening with strength borrowed from wrath.

Abby stepped forward to intervene; free will was not required to do so, because it was clearly in the best interest of her mistress, but Sihner put his arm out, halting her.

"Jaqlyn,he barked, short but effective. He so seldom raised his low, hoarse voice that it was startling enough to give anyone pause. Jaqlyn released Angelina, who fell to her knees with a cough, still smiling.

"All three of you, get out,The necromancer ordered as soon as she'd caught her breath, but Sihner was already half way to the door.

Abby caught him at the end of the hall, the eerie blue lighting of the Acherus glinting off her short fangs as she smirked. 鉄he _hit _you. Lovers' spat?"

"That was a long time ago. Before you,Sihner answered flatly, his daughter's heavy plate footfalls easily assuming the same stride and pattern as his.

"If you can remember that far, you must remember everything."

"Nearly."

"But it doesn't matter how long ago it really was; that witch always acted like it was just yesterday... until now. And I think,Abby paused to laugh cruelly, 鍍hat she just called you stupid."

"She's probably right."

"This means something, don't brush it off."

"It certainly does!Angelina squirmed between the fallen knights easily, having caught up to, and surpassed them, in spite of their longer strides, because she was nearly skipping. 的t means she's losing her mind!Little trickles of blood lined her thin neck from ten small points, where her mothers' nails had pierced her skin.

Sihner's usual expression of neutrality dipped into a frown. If there was too much Avarett in Angelina, he did not see it. Besides Jaqlyn herself, he was confident that he'd never known people to delight in suffering as much as her daughters, and as a result he liked them about as much.

"Dad,Abby whacked his shoulder with a clang, recapturing his attention. 釘e honest. You were too specific in that letter on purpose just to piss her off."

"Yes."

"I knew it,she snickered, pausing and turning as Jaqlyn's voice called out to her father from behind, as curious close relatives or friends do at the sound of a familiar name.

Jaqlyn's face had since smoothed over, like a new person, a more familiar one. That her hair was still mussed was the only assurance they weren't all dreaming moments ago. She leaned against the cold stone wall, hip jutted seductively.

"Mister Xanthic, you ought to make this up to me, don't you think?she rubbed a thin finger over a pendant around her neck, frowning.

"That was fast,Abby crossed her arms. 的 think you should go for it. I actually like her a little better than Saiynt."

"I've taught you terrible manners,He answered lowly, turning back toward Jaqlyn, while Abby hurried to catch Angelina.

"Cevian will send someone to investigate,Jaqlyn began immediately, all business, and calm. 的 don't want to fight him... I know I can win. But I don't want to,she stared at is cool face a moment, trying to determine if he believed her, before continuing, 妬t's better to avoid the entire thing. Make sure his errand boy never makes it back, and close the portals. Cevian assume some Forsaken got ahold of him... yes... I'm certain of it. He's too arrogant to investigate a simple letter himself."

Sihner nodded his head once and turned to do her bidding. He was nearing the threshold of free will, he could feel it. But his unscrambled memory and an underhanded letter were only the first steps. The last, he assumed, was true death預 step he wouldn't mind taking if he took it alone, but Abby, and Saiynt, wherever she'd run off to, died young and could use a second life. So he followed orders and resisted the very urge to resist until another option presented itself.

/ SET LOCATION: SILVERMOON CITY, 65 YEARS AGO

A live-in house cleaner in one of the grandest mansions on the block paused, nose-wrinkled, at a spot in the entry way. Not a spot in the traditional sense, although she regarded it the same曜ust something, a person, in this case, that did not belong. A human, more specifically, with unearthly pallid skin and dark hair was standing in the hall. Because the human was apparently very young, the housekeeper addressed her in common.

"Excuse me, can I _help _you?"

Despite her youth, she picked up very clearly on the servant's tone, but smiled, flawlessly, despite. 的 am a student of your master's. I heard his sweet wife is bedridden; I brought a gift."

"Leave it here. The mistress can't have濫

"I assume she is upstairs? It will only take a moment, and she is expecting me, thank you,the youth retorted quickly, brightly, already beginning up the stairs.

"Well, if she's expectHey! Last door on the right, and don't touch anything, I just cleaned!the custodian shouted, clear irritation in her voice.

The tone both set the teenager on edge and filled her with glee; the thought that a housekeeper would look down on her angered her, and yet at the same time, she planned to have her own to look down on shortly. She'd remember this incident then.

The last door on the right was particularly grandiose, likely the master bedroom, and it contained a sleeping blonde elf, the likes of which the human expected to find耀oft hair primped, an expensive nightgown, and all the familiar symptoms of excess. She pulled a plush, cushioned wooden chair a great distance across the room to sit beside the bed, straightening her own old, tattered robe.

"Iota, is it? My name is Jaqlyn,the human began, a gleeful smile on her young cheeks as her first diabolical plan unfurled itself perfectly and in broad daylight. She slipped in so easily容veryone was so trusting預ny previous uneasiness was gone. She felt invincible.

Iota turned slowly, eyes half-lidded. She was barely awake, unsure if she were dreaming. 笛aqlyn? Oh, yes... hello, child, are your studies going well? I hope you will forgive my dress, but you are interrupting my nap..."

"Oh, naturally. I'm sure you didn't expect drummed her fingers on a small, wrapped box she'd carried in, excitement adding jitter to her fingers.

Iota rubbed her eyes, still unconvinced she was awake. 溺mhm. My, you're a pretty little thing, aren't you? I'm surprised you're not married yet. Humans marry so young."

The youth's smile only widened, until all of her flat, tombstone teeth were exposed and it was becoming difficult to speak. 徹h? Is that why you were worried? Because you think I'm pretty? Or just because I'm young and unwed?she questioned, delighting in her victim's confusion. 徹h I can't exactly say I blame you. Who would want to climb on top of a sick lady every night, hm?"

Iota's eyes widened a moment, in part with the social terror one only experiences when they realize an acquaintance overheard something they weren't meant to, but also with shock and anger at being addressed with such vulgarity. 笛aqlyn, I don't know what you've heard, but欄

"Evidently your husband does, because he resigned this morning!Jaqlyn replied, covering her mouth to keep from exploding with ironic laughter. 鄭nd yet your concern was unwarranted in the first place. You see, I _despise _your people. Arrogant, snobbish, haughty, patronizing! You think you're the gatekeepers to arcane magic; that you, in your generosity, gifted us lesser races and police our use, lest we hurt cackled, quieting only to avoid drawing attention from outside. 的 despise every single thing about you, your people, and this place... and your husband is like the symbol of it all. The cockiest whoreson I've run into in a sea of the scum of Azeroth."

"Dear, you're babbling,Iota struggled up onto her elbows, thick, plush blanket rolling down to her waist. 展hy don't you get a glass of water downstairs..."

Jaqlyn laughed again. 添ou see! You're doing it right now. Darling, dear, child... How silly. And yet... despite all your short-comings... there are things I hate more than Quel'Thalas... most notably, my home. My mother is a common prostitute, and I was here on scholarship. Thanks to you, I have to go home now."

Iota shook her head, falling onto her back once more. 典his is a nightmare."

"However! Before coming here I learned a little from you... by learning about you. You're a poor gal from the south, I hear. Married above your class... well, well above your class. That's a feat, but not an impossible one, and now I see how you've done it, and human men are twice as gullible as the elf sort. If I act like an injured lamb I'll hook one ten times as big, I'm sure of it. This is a valuable lesson and I thank you for it... so I'm not going to kill you outright."

The elf turned her head with widened eyes, jaw dropped. 鄭m I really hearing this?"

"I joined a new... ah, religious movement operating out of Dalaran. They're trying to build certain weapons... having little success, but they came up with this...Jaqlyn eagerly unwrapped a small box, tossed off the lid and produced a vial.

"In some ways it's perfect! You won't remember taking it or who gave it to you, it won't kick in immediately, concealing the source... but it has no effect on the strong and healthy, and, to be honest, takes entirely too long to set in. Requires a few decades or significant stress or both... most humans would die first, but... well, that doesn't matter to you. In your case, you'll fall violently ill預nd I mean you'll be violent, not that you'll be dreadfully sick, just insane, heehee熔r, I suppose, some of the time you'll be dreadfully sick... Well, you'll certainly lose your mind and eventually die after a long, long illness, alienating your friends and family, and no one will ever trace it back to me. Now, say ah, it only takes a few drops!"

Jaqlyn reached over the other woman's bed, clutching her face, prying her jaw open as she unscrewed the lid of the jar with her other hand. As Iota wriggled and kicked her feet, she hoisted the tiny eye-dropper-style-lid over her face, only to have the elf snap her mouth shut and waste the drip on her nose.

Iota reached upward, clutching the hand holding the dropper with strength Jaqlyn did not expect. Now the teenager was shocked and the mistress was smiling.

"I am a little anemic, _bitch, _but I assure you I am nothelpless."

Jaqlyn blinked her naturally thick lashes, surprise turning into a frown. 徹h... oh my."

Downstairs, the army of maids and butlers glanced upward briefly at the sound of a muffled shout and broken glass, then returned to their work with all the callousness one could expect in an area where even the servants were well-off and snobbish. Several minutes later a lanky teenager scurried down the stairs on a broken heel with an angry cut on her face and her hair in such a laughable mess that everyone found her odd, or silly, but not dangerous. No one even thought to inform their employer of her visit.

*END CHAPTER 31*

A/N: Hi! :) It sure has been a while. Needless to say I am not quite as into this story as I used to be, so it won't be a priority probably, but I am still going to finish it. :) I feel a little ridiculous when I read the first chapters, because I've improved so much over the course of this story that it almost doesn't match up, but I don't think I want to commit to reediting everything.

Also, I think I will start writing toward an end instead of just messing around now :P so things should start finally coming together! Yay!

Thanks to everyone who is reading this! This has been such great practice and I love that people are cheering me on!


	35. Chapter 32

Negate kept his chin down, close to his chest, because even a raindrop would send a surge of warmth through the entire left side of his face. His eye, which Lisys had not asked about at all, felt particularly hot, but no real pain. Heavy contact produced some other sensation he couldn't describe, except that it made him weak and apparently sleepy.

But of course, it would heal. He thought more about Lisys. After an entire night of not crying, but a terrible sort of numbness, she was much more cheerful, and he wasn't entirely convinced that it was a good or natural change. Negate reasoned that she was holding out hope that she could go back to husband one day and atone for the past. Oliver wanted nothing of it, which Negate found disgusting and unfair, and he worried that this mood was a cover.

But he couldn't risk asking her directly and shattering any happiness, false or real, so he monitored and analyzed quietly and tried to carry on as kindly as possible.

"Sorry I'm not keeping up well... I'm carrying way too much. I should have stopped and talked to Joshua, he's always looking for odd claws and things for soup...Lisys muttered an apology, even though they were both walking slowly.

"We need to stop in Brill before we move on; don't worry about looked up just long enough to notice that they had actually already arrived in Brill, but also long enough to catch a particularly large rain drop on the wrong side of his nose. 鄭ugh, Sunwell, everloving... damnit, is it always raining here?He resisted the near-overwhelming urge to rub the spot lest he meet the ground again; he'd made that mistake once already.

"Why?Lisys allowed a small giggle to escape. 的f I were you, I wouldn't be so worried about your hair with that shiner. No one is going to notice anything else."

This was the first time she'd acknowledged his injury, and his knee-jerk reaction was to make a joke about its circumstances, but it would involve Oliver and it seemed wrong to make her think about him. In the time it took him to think of something else, he saw a glimmer of her old self, an epic relief.

"Oh, I am so... so sorry, I didn't mean to say... It makes you look a little rough, not bad, just different. People are still gawking, wondering why you'd even be seen with me. I am still wondering turned quickly, back-peddling to address Phandok the voidwalker, a silent purplish backdrop unless spoken to directly. 的sn't he still pretty?"

Negate laughed, the mere change in expression sending sparks through every facial nerve, but he couldn't stop. 徹f course I am still attractive. I never doubted it. Haha! But honestly, is it always raining? Because I've had just about enough rain. After we deliver this message, let's move on. I don't think I could stand Silverpine Forest if it's at all similar. Always so damn gloomy. I insist we visit some place sunny. It'd be good for _you_, especially..."

She followed him into the Brill inn where they both unloaded their bags of odds and ends, losing several pounds of clothing scraps and dead animals for _soup _before heading up the stairs to visit trainers.

On their way up, a door just opposite the stairs slammed shut suddenly at the sound of approaching voices. Negate chuckled, thinking immediately of an incident with a certain plague victim named Claire Willower, taking 'revenge' when he took her room, but otherwise thought nothing of it. Once finished mastering a new angle of misery預nd of course a quick grooming for Jublop and Phandok from the demon trainer揺e wandered back to the hallway to wait for his companion and instead ran into old friends, much to his surprise.

"No, he hates it here, he's probably long gone by now. That was close, though; I thought he would be staying in the Ghostlands for at least a ducked low to clear the doorway; his massive shield, when sitting properly on his back, often clipped door frames if he wasn't careful.

Phasilica stood in the hall already, arms crossed. 展hy do you care? That's what I don't understand."

"Because I promised様ied, actually, and some of us like to keep... 's ears and shoulders slumped as a chance glance to his left brought Negate to his attention.

An unsympathetic Phasilica hardly batted an eyelash. 滴ello, Negate."

"Hello,Negate barely acknowledged Phasilica, instead focusing on the other elf. 典his is odd. You told me you didn't mind babysitting my sister. If that's not true, and I assume it isn't because you are here instead of there, I wish you would have told me so."

"No, I didn't mind! Don't... still, but if I didn't promise, you wouldn't have paladin said hastily, before he thought the statement through entirely, and wasn't sure where to go from there.

Negate broke the silence. 的 see. And why was that important?Despite being ten years Vaschel's junior, he had a calm, angry air about him, like a parent extracting information from an untruthful child.

"Hell if I know. I never plan anything; ask _her,_he pointed to Phasilica, who only raised her eyebrows at Negate's glance. 釘ut that's not important anyway! Negate, think about it. Does your sister really need a babysitter _still_? I know you're worried, but Dawnn will check on her... ah, damnit. What I meant was... holy light, were you in a fist fight? What happened to your eye?"

"I need to get waved Phasilica away from the stairs, out of his way. 典ell Lisys I濫

"_I'm right here_,Lisys stepped out of a shadowy doorway, likely the rogue master's room. "_What's going on_?"

Negate backtracked to grab her hand, forgetting to be cautious for a moment and startling her. "_We need to go back to Silvermoon City. My _friend _left my sister by herself."_

"_Your sister... who is twenty years old?_Lisys squeaked, glad for a distraction預ny distraction傭ut made uneasy by speaking in a crowded hallway.

"You be quiet,Vaschel barked at her, sending her immediately behind Negate and drawing Phasilica's ire. 的 assume it's your damn fault we ran into one another in the first place. Did you punch him in the face, too?"

"Leave her alone, Vaschel,Phasilica hissed, stepping between the elves. 迭eally, Negate, this is my fault. But I'm sure Tory is fine."

Negate stared at her sincere face, Lisys still cowering behind him, then shook his head. 添ou hadn't promised me got on his toes, looking at Vaschel over her shoulder. 添ou, on the other hand, are more unreliable every day. I'm sorry about your family, really, truly; I was hurting too. But you ought to put down the bottle, don't you think? You can't remember things you promised me a week ago."

Hurt, Vaschel stared at the ground. 典hat's not fair, and has nothing to do with anything."

"But he does have a good point,Phasilica added, reaching a level of cold the paladin had not expected, despite their long history.

Negate stared a dumbfounded Vaschel down for several tense moments, expecting a reply. He didn't receive one. Instead, Lisys's cool body pressed into his back, and she whispered, afraid of breaking the deafening silence, "_Do we have to go immediately? I sort of wanted to... find Missus Andy and let her know her name has been cleared..."_

In such thick silence, she was easily audible. Vaschel's ears twitched. "_Find who_?Vaschel was nearly snarling, hurt and frustration easily rolling into anger as he pushed Phasilica aside, staring over Negate right into Lisys's face.

"_F... find... my friend... Missus Andy, did you know her?"_ a terrified Lisys continued to whisper. This man had never before addressed her directly, at least not in a language she could understand, and that had been all right with her耀he found him intimidating.

The paladin put Negate out of his mind for a moment, turning quickly to Phasilica. 展e need to _talk_, really, really talk,he growled.

"We certainly do priestess's nonchalant attitude was almost enough to set him over the edge. She'd barely finished her sentence when Vaschel snatched her arm, roughly, and pushed her at the bedroom door.

"You came to me for help. I'm done being used; you're going to be honest with me from now on,he insisted, and then the both of them disappeared inside.

Too irritated himself to ask questions, Negate turned around, setting his hands on Lisys's shoulders. 鄭re you okay? You look shaken. He wasn't going to hurt you; he's just loud and blaming everyone but himself."

"I'm fine, just... what were you two arguing about? I thought you had been friends for a long time...she looked anywhere but the warlock's face, worried she'd caused the whole ordeal.

"He promised to stay and watch my sister while I was away. Instead, he left her with his brother... ugh,Negate shuddered, releasing the rogue. 典hey're right at that age, too..."

Lisys tilted her head, a little relieved she'd done nothing wrong. 典... twenty something? Well, if you say it's a problem..."

"It's a huge problem! Go on without me, I need to get back to濫

"No!Lisys howled, suddenly completely unconcerned with how much attention she drew. She scrambled to seize hold of his arm, pressing her face against it and shutting her eyes tightly. 的 can't be alone, please!"

"_Belore_, relax!Negate held his arm out away from his body, startled by her overreaction. 的 didn't say you couldn't come along; I just assumed you didn't want she didn't move away immediately, he brought her closer and set his hand on her head. 添ou scared me. You've got a powerful set of lungs in there when you want to... I'm sorry you had to see any of that. You don't really need this right now. Dry your eyes, let's go check the mail before we go."

Lisys released him shyly, sniffling. She swiped at her eyes with her fingers, even though it was unnecessary, following him back down the stairs. They were met with a few stares, likely every citizen of Brill had heard at least parts of the confrontation. 哲egate... why are you being so nice to me?"

He decided that, having been asked so point-blank, it was unavoidable. 展ell, you were essentially divorced just yesterday. I'm not heartless."

Lisys stared at her boney toes, which had long since poked holes in her leather boots. 添ou... you don't think I deserved it?"

"What? Sunwell, no! He knew exactly what you were like before you married him, right?"

"Well, sort of, I've never been... I mean... I've always been... timid..."

"A man... or woman, for that matter, should stay committed for better or worse. At the very best, he should treat you respectfully. I tried to impress that upon him, but I ended up with this black eye elf rooted through the mail, tossing out articles that weren't his in the same sentence he mentioned respect.

Previously depressed by the subject matter, Lisys's eyes shot up to Negate's. 添ou... you talked to Oliver about it? Are you stupid? He's so much stronger than you are!but her expression betrayed her. Suddenly, she was happy. Giddy, even, so much that she thought she would explode.

"Hey, it's not a contest,Negate scowled, finally finding a letter addressed to himself.

Lisys clamped a hand over her mouth, giggling. 釘ut that's exactly what a fist fight is!No one had ever stood up for her... not since Oliver himself. This from someone so unexpected was a wave of joy. She wasn't done crying over her husband just yet, but for at least a moment she allowed herself to enjoy the comfort of a real friend. 滴e could have killed you."

"You sound like Vaschel. We _clothies _have our own strengths, you know,he scoffed, opening and glancing over his letter. His expression transformed again from lightheartedness to irritation once more. .. change of plans."

"What? What does it say? Who is it from?Worried her moment in the sun was already over, she hurried to his side and stared at the paper, even though she couldn't understand it.

"Something happened in the Ghostlands. Evidently they're worried about me... which is good, maybe a little fear will cure him of any desire for my sister,Negate hissed. 釘ut it also says he's dragging my sister _here, _but not why. This is no place for her. When I get my hands on that boy...he sat firmly on the stairs, crossing his arms. 鉄o we're going to wait for them here, I suppose."

Lisys plopped down next to him, scooting a little closer than she'd dared to in the past. 撤lease... please don't take this the wrong way, but you're sort of... sort of starting to remind me of my mother-in-law..."

Disgusted, Negate kicked away a heap of letters he'd tossed out of the mailbox out of the safety of the roof's overhang and into the rain. 展hy-oh-why do Horde races confuse me with a woman? Do I need to draw my robes tighter? I'm certainly completely _flat _and far too stocky to be a woman of _any _race."

"No, no!Lisys giggled again, remembering one or two instances where the guards in Deathknell had done just that. 的 mean, you're always protecting your sister, even though she's a grown-up...Feeling particularly brave, she went one step further. 添ou have to let go some day, or she'll get fed up."

Unwilling to lash out at the sheepish rogue, Negate sighed, and listened to the rain a moment before answering. 添es. I've been over-bearing. She's strong enough to get on without me hanging over her, and she's proven that... but I don't care. I'm still killing Vaschel's brother if he's laid a hand on her."

"And if he hasn't?Lisys kicked at the few remaining letters, too, watching the ink on the address line run before the wind picked them up.

"Then he deserves to die for even thinking about it."

"Okay, if that's what you want... Should I help?"

Negate turned his body completely to look right at the undead, who could only stare back for a few seconds before shying away. Even with 80% of her face hidden by mask or hair, he could see her expressions clearly. She was so trusting, almost morbidly; if he told her, right now, that he was entirely serious and wanted her help murdering that kid in cold blood, a stranger to her, she'd do it.

"Don't you think that would hinder your chances of becoming a death guard? Murdering whoever in town?He asked with an intense seriousness預 test.

She still couldn't look back at him. 的 only wanted to be because of Oliver, but now I'm not sure what I want...she answered, unaware she should even be concerned about what her companion was possibly asking her to do.

Negate hadn't put a lot of thought into it until then, but Lisys no longer had anyone. She made it clear she felt no love for her old hometown, especially after Oliver told her to get lost. She had no friends left, except for those that she met through him. Just moments ago, the thought that he would leave her here alone produced a violent reaction she was otherwise incapable of.

"Lisys, I'm kidding."

"Of course you are,she glanced upward briefly, offering a shy smile underneath her leather handkerchief before looking back at the ground. Clearly, it made no difference to her if he was or not.

He set a hand on top of her head, turning her face back up to his. If she could blush, she would have.

"Off-topic, but have you ever considered doing something with your hair? Like brushing it? It looked nice for a while, what happened?"

"Oh, I went to the barber with Phasilica! I am not very good at taking care of it...she tried her best to look away again, but he wouldn't let her.

He grabbed a piece of her hair, rubbing it between his fingers. It almost felt like straw. 的 think I have a brush in my bag, hold turned to retrieve it.

"Yo... you're going to... brush my hair?Lisys held perfectly still.

"Someone has , Negate was carrying on as if he'd forgotten to be angry over his little sister.

Above their heads, Vaschel slammed shut the window shutters of his rented room. Slamming the door hadn't relieved quite enough tension and the citizens of Brill needn't be privy to any more personal confrontations that day.

"You knew her! This entire time you've known her! Why didn't you say anything? Holy light, this explains so, so much...The paladin crossed to the center of the room, rubbing his forehead.

Phasilica leaned against the door, arms crossed, demeanor remaining cool. 的 hadn't realized I was required to report to you every time I recognized someone, Vaschel."

"I killed her father, didn't I? Isn't that her?he turned to her wildly, further enraged by her attitude. 添ou honestly thought I wouldn't be interested in that?"

"Why would it matter? It was better for her. We agreed he certainly deserved to die."

"Because I was mean to her!Guilt mixed itself with anger and worry and hurt and an overwhelming sense that he'd been cheated more than once today by fate and this woman in particular. 徹h, hell, she's probably miserable. I can't even imagine what her life was like."

Phasilica frowned. 展hether or not you feel sorry for someone shouldn't have any bearing on how you treat them, Vaschel."

"I know that!he snapped forcefully, only made angrier because she was so right. 釘ut it does. Don't start. I feel like had already paced the same length of floor several times.

"You weren't that awful to her, grow up."

"I called her ugly the other day! I talked about her like she wasn't there all throughout her visit to Silvermoon, I yelled at her for no reason just a few minutes ago..."

"She can't even understand you, Vaschel."

"Not long ago I planned on using her to have sex with more attractive women, remember? Oh, light I'll be fasting forever... and I have to say something to her... Ah, hell, but she's probably terrified of me. She's like a... a rabbit almost. Damnit...He stopped, suddenly turning to Phasilica. 釘ut I haven't been nearly as bad as I'm sure Negate has. You have to tell him."

She rolled her eyes, or rather moved her head in a way that suggested the same action. 滴e's mean to everyone at first. I'm sure that's worn off by now."

"I have had just about _enough _of your selfishness today,Vaschel all but roared at her suddenly, startling her. 的've done a fair share of lying for you溶ow you do me, and that poor girl who is _supposed to be your friend_ one small favor and tell the truth for once!"

"As if you're always entirely truthful with him!Phasilica snapped back, undaunted. 展orried he'd think less of you for this or that. I've never heard of a grown man so worried about someone else's opinion."

"_This or that?_he laughed darkly. 添ou mean us? Don't even get me started! I would have told him everything. I would have told him that I mounted you more than my horse濫

"How dare you!"

痘here, and in the room behind us, and in the room in front of us, and every other damn building for miles, every paved path, and especially _your husband's house. _Drop the act! Everyone in this room knows the real you. I kept my mouth shut because _you_ didn't want him to know about us, and because _you _were worried that if he knew who you used to be, he'd know you slept with Cevian and think you were a _whore._"

Her face finally broke, and she set a hand on her chest. 的 will not be spoken to this way."

"Why? Because it's all absolutely true?Vaschel crossed his arms, feeling calmer after shouting. 的'm not keeping lies for you anymore. Maybe we can save him from feeling as badly as I do... go tell him or I will."

"No."

"I promise, he's not going to care how you know her or who you slept with. Even if he did, I'm not about to let that poor girl suffer his company. He's a jerk, Phasilica, you know that. Remember how he was when you showed up? And you're tough, at least! Just get it over with!"

"No,she repeated, quietly defiant.

"You're really going to leave this alone just so Negate won't think you're loose?Anger rose up in his chest again.

"No!"

"Azeroth doesn't revolve around you, Phasilica!He rose his voice again, taking several aggressive steps forward. 溺ove! I'm telling him!"

"Don't!She covered her face up with her hands, holding her face.

"You are so unbelievably self-centered I can't even"

She slid down the door to her knees, her shoulders shaking. Like all Forsaken she could not produce tears, but she went through the same, familiar motions and sounds. 的 know it, I know! J... just tell him not to tell Lisys, please! I'm begging...Her voice was lost in a fit of sobs, face hidden.

In an instant, Vaschel regretted everything. All of the anger drained completely in less than the time it took him to dump his shield and lower himself to her level. 滴ey...he tugged lightly on her arms, trying to move them away from her face, but she resisted.

"I don't care if Negate knows everything, I don't care if he hates me! I deserve it! But her? I wanted a daughter so, so, so badly after my sister passed away, and, and, and,she had to stop to catch her breath, 殿nd I ruined every opportunity I had! And she paid for it when I should have...She drew her knees up to her chest, slumping further into herself.

Genuinely worried, Vaschel scooted up against the door beside her, wrapping an arm around her and drawing her quivering frame into his side. 鉄hh, slow down... what are you talking about?"

She uncovered her face to look at his sympathetic eyes for a moment before recoiling, pushing his side. Accepting any comfort from Vaschel felt like disrespecting her son's memory; she could only bring herself to manipulate or use him葉his was too much. 的 was there, with her, for four years, and I suspected nothing... You knew what that man was the minute you saw him, before he confessed all of those... filthy...for a moment she felt numb, before a wave of sadness overtook her again and she resumed whimpering that quickly progressed into another sob.

"You mean Denton Grind?Vaschel refused to let her pull away. 滴oney, you told me that you'd seen Ariel around熔f course I knew he was a waste of air. I know what to look for anyway. No one else in that town knew, either, it's not your fault."

"No one else would give her the time of day! I should have known, I would have known, I was foolish... I loved her so, so much... she had broken fingers every day, she wasn't interested in any friends or boys her age or... but what's a broken bone to a dirt farmer? I was so arrogant, so worried about myself, too good to investigate, so conceited..."

Weeping made her body weak, and he pulled her onto his chest, where she stayed finally.

"You couldn't have known. Don't cry,Vaschel's own voice cracked and he had to pause, pulling out her bun and smoothing her hair. 添ou were the only good thing in her whole life. You have no reason to feel guilty."

She allowed herself to calm down, soaking in his warmth. 典hank you. You're wrong... but thank you, thank you..."

"I'm not going to say anything, okay? She'll be fine. You were right, you know? Negate loves to take care of anything. I was just... I was just mad that he found out I lied and... You know what, I bet he's out right now taking great care of her."


	36. Chapter 33

*CHAPTER 33*

_Rainy and gloomy was the permanent condition in Tirisfal Glades. Bedtime stories told of the first high elves settling in the area losing their brothers and sisters to madness. Allegedly, they were too sensitive to a sleeping evil in the very soil, but modern humor concluded they hated the weather._

_Lisys stuck to _her side _of the bed, on the very edge, with her back to the_ other _side, eyes moving between the rain drops on the window, and a faded poster of King Terenas Menethil. It covered a hole in the wall._

_A noise downstairs made her curious—was it imaginary or real?—and she resolved in the same instant to investigate without real thought, in the way only a woman who had not slept in years could._

_Oliver used to wake with her every time, years and years ago, worried she'd freeze to death downstairs in her night clothes, but he'd long since grown tired of chasing phantoms and continued to sleep soundly as she floated out the door, closing it quietly behind her._

_She set her own pace, skipping the two broken steps robotically, neither too fast nor too slow, escaping the specter's attention just as easily as it escaped hers. She only looked up from her feet when on the ground floor, and it was too late; a tall, thin figure in her sitting room had noticed her at the same time._

_Lisys jolted to life, backtracking one stair, bending her knees to hide behind the banister and grabbing the collar of her nightshirt to pull over her nose instinctively. Something familiar about the rich coat and dark hair tempted her to speak, and with fear-frozen thoughts she uttered an indescribable sound in an attempt to form words. She tried again._

"_Missus... An...dy?"_

_The figure turned around, and even in the dark Lisys knew she was wrong. She closed her eyes tightly, tears fighting their way through, and she bowed her head against the old wooden rail in surrender._

_The witch smiled, and her eyes and perfect teeth seemed to glow in the darkness."Lisys. We have _so_ much catching up to do."_

_Lisys dried her eyes on her sleeves and sniffled. Resolved to her fate, she filled the emptiness with senseless banter. "I... I heard about Mister Avarett Crysis... Oliver... Oliver said that all of Lordaeron will be at the funeral... I'm s- sorry for your loss."_

"_Don't be, it was his own fault. He found our monster, see."_

"_... our... ?" By the time Lisys found the strength to turn her eyes up again, Jaqlyn was standing on the other side of the banister, close enough to touch her._

"_You're so modest," she chuckled, keeping her voice low. "You gave me the perfect candidate. That was the hardest part. And what a monster we've made! It's not easy to kill a paladin such as my late husband. If you think about it, this is all for the best... I couldn't think of a better test for our creation."_

_Lisys nodded her head mutely, reaching to pull her shirt over her nose again as it had begun to slip, but the witch caught her hand instead, pulling her to her feet with an other-worldly strength Jaqlyn's frame could not possibly posses._

"_But he hurt it. I need more parts... or it will die." All humor disappeared from Jaqlyn's face and she over-emphasized the _'ts' _sound in a way that made Lisys feel sick._

"_I don't want to become part of a monster..." Lisys's shoulders quivered, more hot tears running down her face, but she felt more numb and defeated than sad._

_Jaqlyn seized a hold of her face and leaned in close, examining the ugly scars and missing flesh that dominated Lisys's appearance below her nose. "Then I could add its parts to you. You could be pretty. Wouldn't that be nice?" She phrased the question like a demand._

"_I... don't want... to be pretty..."_

"_Poor, miserable girl," the witch feigned sympathy, caressing her ancient wounds with a finger. "I'm a fair woman; let's make a deal. You don't want to be a monster? I understand. Who would? But I need to pluck a heart from somewhere. So, have a baby. I'll steal him away in the night. You won't even be in trouble."_

"_... Why me?" Lisys managed pathetically, voice hoarse._

_Jaqlyn released the sobbing woman to lean against the balusters, striding across the tiny front room to the door. "Can't you sense it yet? You're cursed. Everything you touch is doomed to misery far more useful to a monster than necromancy." She paused, tossing a cruel smile behind her shoulder in the door way. "Don't disappoint me, girl."_

Lisys scrambled away from Negate, careful not to smack him in the face accidentally. She deducted quickly that she'd fallen asleep—that was the only reason she'd ever lay in his lap. She certainly wasn't brave enough awake.

"Sorry, sorry, sorry!" she squealed, sitting as far as possible without falling off the steps. "It's relaxing when people touch my hair. I didn't mean to... I'm sorry."

Negate started, only just realizing she'd fallen asleep. Regaining himself, he chuckled. "Is that what you were doing? Relax, you were out for 30 seconds at the most. It was convenient, anyway. I couldn't reach the other side of your head." He returned the brush to his pack.

Numb with embarrassment, Lisys avoided turning his way. "Do I look better now?"

"Not really."

The door behind them opened suddenly, startling the pair, who had to shift further apart to make room for exiting patrons. Negate made a point to ignore Vaschel, crossing his arms and turning his head dramatically, but was foiled when Vaschel's shield clipped his head. He rubbed it furiously, grumbling.

"Bye, ma'am," Lisys began to wave, but put her hand down when Phasilica turned to face them instead.

"Not yet..." Phasilica inhaled audibly. "First, Negate, I need to borrow you. Would you take a walk with me for a moment? Vaschel will stay here."

Vaschel turned, too. "I will? Why? What are you going to talk about?"

Phasilica leaned toward him, whispering. "I'm angry with you for slaughtering my son, but... I know why you did it."

"You do?" Vaschel frowned. He had tried to protect her from that.

"I recognize the Scarlet crest when I see it. That doesn't mean you should have killed him... but I can't punish you for this anymore. You're right; the lying has to stop."

Lisys and Negate exchanged glances, then leaned forward shamelessly to try to catch what they could over the rain. To their disappointment, it was nearly over.

"I said you didn't—" Vaschel began, but Phasilica interrupted him, speaking clearly again.

"It will only take a moment. Come for a walk with me."

Lisys clutched Negate's sleeve as he stood, still too shy to look at his face. "You're... going to leave me with that paladin?"

Negate bent to smooth a knot in her hair he'd missed earlier, much to his disappointment. "Don't worry. I'll tell him not to bother you, and I'll be right back." Striding toward Phasilica, he paused to stand on his toes and bark, "Don't bother Lisys!" at Vaschel with surprising ferocity.

Vaschel watched closely, making sure the priest and the warlock were a distance away and enthralled with their conversation before taking a seat next to Lisys, falling back with a thud. "What a coincidence! Just the girl I wanted to talk to!"

The rotting porch was not well-constructed in its prime. The railing on Vaschel's side collapsed, and his end of the plank dipped while Lisys's nearly flung her off. She squealed, standing nimbly with the motion, looking around herself wildly for anyone else he could be talking to.

"Awh c'mon, you don't have to stand! I don't bite." Vaschel offered with surprising warmth.

Verifying that she was the only soul he could possibly be addressing, Lisys decided this whole situation was some sort of trap. "Th... that's... that's okay... I'd rather... stand."

Meanwhile, Negate had to quicken his pace to keep in step with Phasilica. She abandoned her typically graceful gait for an awkward trot. They were past the old horse farm and rounding a ruined Scarlet Outpost before Negate couldn't stand it any longer.

"What's the matter with you already?" He slowed, insisting she keep pace with him instead. "Is there something in the water? Jumpy dead women today, Sunwell..."

Phasilica regained herself, ashamed she'd lost her head in the first place. "I'm sorry. I just need to say that I honestly value our friendship, and so it is difficult for me to admit that I haven't always been honest with you."

Suddenly Negate was tense. "What about?"

"Who I was in life." Her next words came quickly, in a rush. "I've always had a deep connection to the elven people. I love everything about Quel'Thalas, the culture, the language, and especially," she paused, cringing, because she felt filthy saying it out loud, "the men."

Negate tossed his ponytail smugly, flinging rain water into the trees. "Are you coming onto me?"

"No! No, shadow, no! That would be terribly awkward."

"Because you slept with my father?"

Phasilica turned her head to face him, horrified, hand clutching at her silent heart. As if her humiliation was not enough already, Negate began to laugh. A chuckle at first, but he was soon doubled over.

"You jest! Honestly? Aha! I was just trying to lighten the mood. Sunwell!" He clutched his sides, gasping. "I'm... whew! I'm sorry. I don't mean disrespect. I assume he tutored you, correct?"

The priestess nodded, unable to speak.

"If this is all you brought me out here to say, you have nothing to be worried about. You were probably 16 at the oldest? Really, _he _should have known better."

"No," Phasilica sighed. "I was certainly old enough to know what that ring on his finger meant. But I really loved him."

"Gross."

"Grow up," Phasiica scowled.

"Do you want to talk about your parents? I know I've heard a rumor or two about Avarett Crysis, something like twenty women at his—"

Phasilica couldn't help but smile, too, if only for a moment. She and Negate were previously from the same upperclass world, but were clever enough to see the folly in it. His company was refreshing. She liked the same quality in Cevian many years ago. "All right, point taken."

"Is there anything else?"

Her relief was short-lived. "No. The reason I hadn't said anything... I didn't want you to think I was common. I already told you I was married... but I never mentioned how unhappy it was for me. The whole thing was more political than anything else, and because I wanted to be close with my nephew."

"Your what?"

"That's a long story. Anyway, I'm not making excuses, but... Well, Vaschel and I met some twenty years ago. He volunteered with the Church of the Holy Light to spend half a year building a church and a school. I was the head architect."

"Really?" Because of the way they quarreled, Negate was more surprised that Phasilica was an architect than that she'd met Vaschel before.

"Yes... and we had an affair on and off... holy light, until I died."

Negate nodded his head in silence. This required some extra thought.

Phasilica massaged her temples, heaving a sigh of disappointment. "I'm disgusting, aren't I?"

"You're imperfect, and maybe a bit common. But I don't think you're disgusting," Negate looked at her with earnest sympathy. "Did you love him?"

The priestess chuckled darkly, shaking her head. "Please. I became so self-centered after I married I don't think it was possible."

"But he didn't seem to mind."

"No."

"So what happened?"

Phasilica kicked a stone, deciding whether or not she trusted Negate enough to dive into such a tender place. "He killed my son. You saw it. The whole damn city saw it. He came in with an Alliance raid, but was separated, and challenged Vaschel."

"That was your son?" Negate set a hand on her shoulder. "That makes a lot of sense. I don't want the ordeal to be more painful than it already is, but I think the boy wanted to hurt you. He asked for you by name."

"I've pieced it together. He and a childhood friend joined the Scarlet Crusade together. He didn't believe I was his mother anymore and had come to kill me... but I never asked for Vaschel's protection. I don't know how to explain it to someone who has no children, but I'd much rather be dead than my son." Her tone was solemn, but her voice did not quiver. She was out of tears for the day.

"I understand perfectly." Negate rubbed her back lightly. For the five years they'd known one another, he'd never actually touched her before. Nonetheless, it was welcome, settling any of Phasilica's fears that he might abandon their friendship.

"... And... I knew Lisys, too," Phasilica added, eager to change the subject.

Negate laughed lightly, replacing his hand at his side. "And my sister and my mother and everyone else I've nodded to on the street? This is starting to get out of hand."

Phasilica smiled a little, too. "No, she's the last one. Honest."

"You must be that Missus Andy she keeps talking about. You should tell her. I'm certain she'd be thrilled."

"Yes. That was my married name. I want to say something, but... Never mind. I'll tell her. Let's turn around now before we hit the Monastery."

Confused and still not thoroughly convinced the paladin had no ulterior motive, Lisys followed Vaschel nervously. "Th... they'll probably come back on their own..."

"Silly girl. Do I look patient to you? Of course not. Haha! Why are you so nervous? Do you think I'll take you out in the woods and kill you? That's a joke. I love jokes."

Lisys boggled. Once upon a time, she wasn't sure that the paladin was fluent in Orcish. As if someone flipped a switch, suddenly he wouldn't shut up. "I'm sorry... s... sir..."

"Vaschel! Vaschel Dauntlight, but just Vaschel usually."

"Oh, okay... Vaschel? I thought you didn't like me..."

He halted abruptly and swung around to face her, a grin on his face. "You're kidding, right? Why wouldn't I like you? Look at you, quivering there. You're so cute!" He set his hand atop her head, rubbing her hair in every direction.

Lisys's eye sockets were the size of dinner plates. She was confident he could lift her up by her head with just that one hand.

When she didn't respond to his affections as he'd hoped, Vaschel sighed and bent his knees to be more on her level, speaking quieter. "You're right. I sort of ignored you before. I wasn't really very nice, either..." he rubbed the back of his neck, grumbling something that sounded like an apology before speaking clearly again. "But Negate is like my brother! Any friend of his is a friend of mine, see?"

"... I thought you and Negate were fighting..."

Vaschel turned and started walking again thoughtfully. "Yeah, yeah, that's true. But he's still my _best _friend."

Lisys had to hurry to keep up. She wasn't ready to trust this man-mountain quite yet, but she feared being lost and alone more.

"Are... are all elves usually... close... like you two?" Lisys ventured nervously. She'd learned from Oliver that male friendships were a touchy issue. He had friends, and one he was closer to than the others, but to say it out loud was somehow forbidden. There was an unwritten contract that dictated men only care about one another so much, unless they were _that _type, a sort of crime in itself. As bizarre as she found these unspoken agreements, she found it stranger still that they were absent in Thalassian culture.

Vaschel did not take offense as she worried he might. "Hm, no. I think my people as a whole are usually pretty selfish. I'm selfish, too, but Negate isn't. I know, laughable, right? But he's not. He raised his sister. My family helped, but he did most of the hard work. He took care of my sister, too, Adel. She had a lot of problems," he didn't elaborate on _problems _further, and Lisys didn't ask, "but he loved her anyway. At first I hated him, and I said, _hey! Keep your hands off my sister you whoreson! _Hahaha! Isn't that hilarious? He was terrified! He was young though.

"Anyway, he looked after her a lot. And he raised his sister, and he worked a lot. Didn't want any of his father's money, didn't want there to be any reason for anyone to say he didn't do a good job on his own. That's a lot for a kid who grew up with the expectation that everything would be handed to him. He was always tired... but he was there, you know? A few times Adel got in trouble with the guards for stealing, and I'd get ready to go bail her out, but find that he was already there talking to them. I finally had time to take care of my littler sisters, and I always worried Adel would end up with some asshole, which he can be, but he's harmless.

"Nothing is more important to me than my family, and he was so helpful. I appreciated it. I cannot tell you how much that meant to me. I could go on and on about how much I love that man."

"... I see..." Lisys was stunned, certain she'd never met such a boisterous person in her life. She gathered so far that he loved four things: Negate, his family, talking, and laughing. He had a naturally loud voice and a deep laugh that startled her every time, but the more she heard it, the less it actually frightened her. Actually, she felt far more comfortable than she had with Negate at this point in their acquaintanceship.

Vaschel thrust his map at her, large smile plastered permanently on his face. "Since you live here, you'll be the navigator, okay?"

Lisys unrolled it and, feeling pressured, could make less sense of it than usual. "... oh... oh dear. I think you should do it."

"But I don't visit here often. Where are we? Be ready to put it away if it starts raining again, I don't want my map all wet."

The rogue stopped in the middle of the path, realizing she was holding the map upside down. She turned it over and looked around, desperately, unsure of which direction they'd been walking. Brill was long out of sight. Certain she had already ruined this budding friendship, she folded it neatly again and answered weakly. "I... I don't know."

She was not met with impatience, but another laugh. "That's right. I think Negate mentioned you weren't good at this. Here, let me show you. It's easy, you're just making it too complicated." He retrieved the map from the undead, unfolded it again, and took a quick look around.

"First, you find a landmark. See that farm there? It's probably on the map. Got it?"

Lisys nodded meekly.

"Now, don't worry about North or East or whatever. Just turn the map so that the landmark you're facing is at the top of the parchment."

"... But … now it's sideways..." Lisys said, afraid to question him.

"Yeah, but that's okay. Now just think about where you are in relation to other things, left and right, forwards and backwards. The farm is in front of us, on the map too. The road we're on now lines up with the map, see? And it's easy to tell that if we go that way," Vaschel pointed to their right, "that this path is about to end."

Lisys tilted her head. "That's a neat trick... I'm a little embarrassed I never thought of it..."

"Haha! Between you and me, I'm an average navigator myself. My sisters were all rangers. You don't know what that is. Well, rangers are expert trackers, and they all used to make fun of me. I have a younger brother, though, he's _terrible. _He used to babysit Negate's sister when he was a teenager, and he got lost once and she had to found their way home. Little ten-year-old Negatory leading him around. He's probably as bad as you, but don't let that hurt your feelings. It's not that important."

"Oh... oh, thanks," Lisys nodded bashfully, staring at her feet. "But it doesn't help us find—"

"Shh," Vaschel's demeanor changed in an instant. He put a hand on Lisys's head to signal her to hold still, gentle but suddenly very serious.

Her head snapped upright instinctively and the rogue spotted a dark-haired human in the old field amongst the rotting zombies. They didn't bother her, which told Lisys the human was much stronger. If it wasn't for the hand on her head, she'd have panicked.

Vaschel was already calculating his next move. Brill was much too far; the human would have plenty of room to chase them. Because he'd bothered to bring his sword and shield, he could probably take her, and so long as she didn't notice Lisys, they'd both be okay.

"Get down," he whispered before hopping the fence.

*END CHAPTER 33*

_Okaaaaaaaaay, so I haven't been good about talking to people lately haha. This story isn't as important to me as it once was. I am still trucking along to finish it. The beginning of this story wasn't very good :p And since what I am building on isn't very good, I feel like this story isn't very good. But it's still kind of sentimental to me, especially because I learned so much writing it._

_Since I decided to start writing toward an end (which is how all stories SHOULD begin anyway) I cut some characters, so you might not see cameos like Beatstick anymore. Tragic, I know! I like orcs too! A lot! _

_I dunno about the chinese characters thing. I guess it has to be a formatting issue. I am trying a different format, I hope it helps._

_I appreciate each and every single piece of critique I get on here. The thing about the voices and how the characters talk... I never noticed that! That is very interesting to me and extremely helpful._

_I think that this will probably be my last WoW story. If I do write another one, it damn sure won't be this long :p Actually, this is likely my last fanfiction as well as my first. I want to make original comics with my husband (who was my boyfriend when I started this). Actually, I am kind of excited to be done with this story but at the same time I'll be a little sad._

_Thank you for reading. :)_


	37. Chapter 34

*CHAPTER 34*

/SET LOCATION: TIRISFAL GLADES

Tearle moved her dark hair away from her face, frizzy from the after-rain humidity, and squinted hard at the sky. It was difficult to gauge time in this place. She thought she saw a glow behind a group of clouds in the west an hour ago. Did its disappearance mean dusk or had she imagined it in the first place?

If she could trust herself, that meant she'd spent the whole day searching for any suspicious activity around the old farm and come up empty. There was a small surplus of walking corpses in the area, but not enough to suggest the presence of a necromancer.

Worse still, she hadn't happened upon a single Forsaken to observe—the area was desolate except for the aforementioned mindless dead. She'd worked alone far longer than a day before, and yet she'd never been quite so lonely.

Lost in thought at the great emptiness, Tearle mistakenly dismissed a small rustling behind her as more pathetic zombies until a sharp pain stabbed her in the side of the head. Though excruciating, it was superficial; the hand of reckoning had always reminded Tearle of a childhood incident where a close friend pierced her ear with a hot needle on _two _instead of _three._

She whirled around in search of the paladin, breathing a short whisper that turned into a mysterious, ear-splitting scream for a short distance. Vaschel resisted completely, the spell evaporating into little more than a purple mist against the gold glint of his own magic.

The priestess backed up, seconds away from running when the paladin held out his hands and dropped his axe,allowing the weapon to hang by its chain in surrender.

"_Whoa, whoa, stop right there! I'm sorry, I couldn't tell you were with the Argent Dawn from behind. What are you doing so far from the outpost? Woman, you'll get killed out here. I'll walk you back." _His tone dripped friendly concern, so much that Tearle was almost more suspicious. She kept her guard up.

"I'm better at Thalassian." The priestess took another tense step backwards.

"Oh yeah? Me too. Mind if I put my axe back on my hip?" Vaschel asked.

Tearle retreated another step, securing enough distance between herself and the blood elf that she almost felt confident she could escape. "Yes! I mind very much!"

Vaschel stared at her for a long, silent moment, speaking only fractions before she was ready to bolt again. "Does that mean that I can put it away or not?"

Another stiff moment passed before Tearle determined he was asking a serious question. "You asked if I would mind. I told you I would. That means _no._"

"But you said yes."

"I said _yes, I mind_." Tearle found his confusion more charming than annoying, but did her best to look annoyed regardless. "Are you sure you're better at Thalassian?"

Vaschel laughed, tossing his hair behind his shoulders without the use of his hands. "Okay, smartass, can I put it away now? Should I attack, I think it's clear you'll just outwit me."

"... Yes. I mean, go ahead." She watched intently as the paladin retrieved the haft of his axe secured it to his belt casually. He was clearly unconcerned about her, and it put her more at ease too.

"Why are you so far from the Argent outpost? You're going to get killed out here. Provided he even cared, any ranged class would pick you off well before he got close enough to see your tabard. You really shouldn't wander any Horde territory, but a human this close to the Undercity is completely suicidal."

She crossed her arms, unbothered by his semi-parental tone, but intent on communicating that she could take care of herself too. "A colleague of mine needed a neutral contact to investigate the presence of a powerful necromancer here."

"Why neutral?"

"He is a high elf."

"Ugh!" His face screwed up and he took a staggering step backwards, as if he'd tasted something terrible.

The disproportionate drama brought a smile to Tearle's face. "I think they would react to you the same way. Tearle Veicht." She extended a pale hand.

"Vaschel Dauntlight," his hand nearly swallowed hers and he shook a little too roughly as she boggled at the sheer size of him—it was impossible to truly comprehend until standing in close proximity.

"What are _you _doing so far from home?" She locked her hands together in front of herself, trying her best to look proper although she was quickly warming up to him. Elves always had that power over her.

"Friends. But I've got a new priority now."

"Oh?"

Vaschel nodded solemnly. "Yes. Escorting you back to the outpost. Sorry, ma'am, but I really can't leave you here. I'll help you look for your necromancer, but after that we need to go."

She frowned. "And if I'm not ready to leave?"

"Look at that pout!" He laughed again, an animated laugh, almost infectious. "You can be grumpy if you want, but I'm not letting you die out here. I'll put you over my shoulder if I have to."

"You think you're even capable?" Her tone was frigid, but he melted her polite irritation effortlessly.

"The truth is, I have a thing for smart women, and I was hoping you wouldn't mind walking with me. I don't think your necromancer has been around here, do you? So if you don't need to hang around..."

"But I have another purpose here. I've studied culture my entire life, and despite all our similarities, if there are any anymore, I know the least about the Forsaken."

Vaschel smirked. "Ah, so there's the truth. You have your own agenda after all. I can introduce you to one if you'll come with me to the Bulwark. Deal?"

No sooner had Negate suggested they turn back before they hit the Scarlet Monastery did the pair realize they were already there, staring at garden of minor Scarlet troops. It appeared that only a single hunter had spotted the friends, so Phasilica made sure to execute him quickly and quietly from a distance.

They then turned, eager to leave the premises, only to find their paths blocked by a familiar red-headed paladin and a blonde mage.

The paladin was the first to notice that she'd run into this particular warlock before. "It's _you!_" she spat, hate etching itself into her eyebrows. She withdrew her sword and shield, visibly quivering with rage. "You decimated three outposts and had the gall to show up here? You're a dead man, whoreson..."

But Ex caught her arm, squeezing so much that it hurt, and nodded toward the priestess.

Jibreel hesitated as she stared at the priestess, a voice from the past screaming inside her skull. "... Missus Andy? … No, impossible. She'd never... What witchcraft is this?" She rose her sword again, but dropped it immediately as a terrifying screech nearly split her ears open and sent her running instinctively. Ex followed.

With a graceful flick of the wrist and a simultaneous skip she stepped into the air. Snatching a hold of his sleeve, Phasilica pulled Negate up with her, allowing both to escape easily down the side of the cliff; a drop that would have been fatal otherwise. Even after the crusaders recovered, they could not pursue.

At the bottom, the warlock straightened his hair and robes with exaggerated drama, calling attention to every small movement. "Dawnn mentioned those two back in Silvermoon City."

Phasilica smoothed her hair, gazing up the cliff for any signs of mage or paladin. "He has a good memory. His mother volunteered to build that church along with Vaschel and Rachel, and he came along... but Dawnn was five or six at the oldest."

"And what do the redhead and the mage have to do with it?"

"The mage is my cousin. My father's sister married my father's friend's brother... Why anyone would want to marry into the Xanthicis is beyond me. Creepy family, and they give all of their children _humbling _names like _Exxpendable _and _Abbhorant._"

"And the redhead?"

"Jibreel Cisneros. Around the same time that I met Vaschel, the poor girl's parents were murdered. She wandered in the trees for a few days before running into Rachel by chance, and then Rachel carried her to me. I assume she witnessed the slaughter, because in just a few weeks she seemed to have repressed every memory connected to them. After that, she was bounced around a bit between families who had been close to the Cisneroses. She even stayed with me for a while, between the Xanthics and an apprenticeship with my father. She was friends with my sons."

"Sunwell... did they catch the murderer?"

Phasilica smiled darkly up at the sky. They'd spent too much time away, and Vaschel would worry soon. "Sort of. They caught a tool, an angry young puppet my mother had forgotten about. Before she married my father, Jaqlyn joined the Cult of the Damned and became obsessed with developing a powerful monster. She thought she needed the bones of a miserable child, so she started shopping around.

"She certainly made my sister and I miserable, but we were too passive by nature, and rarely inspired to violence. She cuddled up to Mister Xanthic, but he chased her off when he sensed something suspicious, and I married Jacob to keep her claws off of Leland. Saiynt was her only real experiment."

Negate's ears twitched and his pace slowed, fingers drawing back as the tendons in his hands tightened. This was a name he had heard before, and if he didn't like her then, he certainly didn't now. His first urge was to sprint toward Lisys and tell her she wasn't allowed to talk to this woman, or any death knight for that matter, ever again. But reason kicked in: the likelihood that Lisys was in immediate danger from a mysterious death knight who rarely appeared was slim, and he doubted Vaschel would allow it.

"What type of experiment?" The warlock relaxed and glanced over his shoulder, noticing that Phandok the voidwalker had disappeared. Likely stuck on the cliff—demons were famous for an unexplained and unfounded fear of heights.

"Robert was older and more easily swayed than my father and Mister Xanthic. She used magic that drove him insane by degrees; no one even noticed until it was too late. And he took it out on his family—moved them away from the city, nearly completely isolated them, except for the bare minimum required to put up a happy front. But he only had three daughters, and Jaqlyn wanted to torture both sexes. To appease her, Robert raised Saiynt as a boy from the day she was born.

"We all thought that Saiynt was a male child until her arrest. Everyone was clueless, even Robert's previously close friends. Supposedly by chance—but I don't believe it was by chance—she ran into Ariel Dauntlight who, in her own words, _made a woman out of her._"

Neate shivered. This was a new level of insanity he couldn't imagine himself, and some part of him felt sorry for Lisys's friend, but the rest of him feared her instability. Understandable or not, Saiynt wasn't someone he wanted Lisys to be around.

"How did they fool outsiders into the girl's teens?" Negate asked.

Phasilica placed a hand on her chest, face drawn and sad. The warlock figured she must have taken some personal responsibility here, which did not surprise him even if he could not guess her connection to the ordeal. He'd never met someone quite so guilt-ridden as Phasilica.

"They nearly starved her. Delayed her development. I interviewed Saiynt extensively... not for her sake. Robert was a decorated paladin and Saiynt's fate was sealed when she killed him, but to help Rachel and Cevian hunt Ariel. She wouldn't speak to elves... She told me that she would have died, but Ariel gave her food here and there to keep quiet... and this went on for a year, until she decided she was done. She asked her family for help, and they accused her, so she snapped, and they all died, except Jibreel. That's nearly exactly what she told me."

"Then she was executed?"

"Not immediately. I stalled the proceedings as long as I could... then jailor, Mr. Xanthic, decided _she didn't deserve to die," _Phasilica scoffed darkly. "He helped her escape and spent a half a decade on the run with her."

"Why that tone?"

"Because I don't buy it. You've seen her sister—once fed properly, Saiynt grew up awfully fast, finishing around the same time Mr. Xanthic developed sympathy. She was confused, promiscuous, easy. Besides, the few who'd seen her still remembered her as a boy. She could have evaded capture until her death, but he was tall, famous, and had giant scar across his neck from an accident that made his voice unmistakeable. So they were both captured five years later and hanged in Stratholme... she was nineteen."

Negate quirked an eyebrow. While he agreed that it was likely a factor, he guessed Phasilica must have a low opinion of men, or this man in particular, to truly believe he'd live as a fugitive for five years for sex. But he doubted that pointing this out to her would be beneficial for either of them. "You blame him for their capture?"

Phasilica turned her body to let a walking corpse by, a pitiful individual on an endless trek between the Bulwark and the Balnir Farmstead, too weak to bother with anyone but the greenest of Forsaken recruits. All the while, she kept her gaze centered on Negate intensely.

"He was tall for a human. My husband was concerned that the standard gallows would be too short, but Mister Xanthic was in the custody of a different prison. I promised I would look into it, as an architect, so I did... and I requested the rope shortened another few inches. His toes could touch the ground and it took him nearly forty minutes to die of asphyxiation." Her voice started with unremarkable determination, but quieted into a slow, sinister whisper until the word _asphyxiation _was simply read from her lips.

Negate leaned away, unnerved. "And you weren't punished for it?"

"You know the answer to that. My father was rich. I was innocent. It was all a tragic mistake... How did we do it, Negate? Tolerate such a gilded existence... now that it's gone, don't you wonder?"

"Yes, sometimes I—" As they rounded the old farmhouse, Negate stopped suddenly, staring out into the field. From a distance, it looked as if Vaschel and Lisys were chatting with a human, but that simply wasn't possible. He reached up and rubbed his eyes with his fists thoroughly, left them shut for a minute, then looked again.

Phasilica had a similar thought process. "Is that _idiot _chatting up a human in Forsaken territory?" she snarled, invoking her favorite pet name for Vaschel.

"It would appear so." Together, they approached the fence where they stopped, still leaving a considerable distance between themselves and the other three, debating what to do. "Look at her tabard... Argent Dawn, not Alliance."

"I don't care! Her presence outside the Bulwark is _completely _thoughtless. I ought to kill her. I still might!" Phasilica could hardly keep her voice down amidst her outrage, and it attracted the human's attention, even clear across the field. Vaschel noticed next, and though he knew he was in trouble, thought it would be best to carry on cheerfully and diffuse the situation.

Lisys, both enthralled by and terrified of the human noticed last, and immediately sprinted toward the more familiar pair, who hopped the fence and met her part-way. She immediately huddled as close to the warlock as possible, rubbing her arms as if she were cold to fight the urge to attach herself to him.

Negate was not pleased with Vaschel before he left, and the secret twenty-year affair he'd just learned of compounded the effect. Dragging Lisys to a human was almost too much.

"What the hell is this!" he demanded, beating Phasilica to the same question.

Even without Tearle's rudimentary understanding of Orcish, it was very clear these new strangers were talking about her... and they weren't happy. The whole situation was uncomfortable, but overpowered by her curiosity. This new Forsakenness's reaction to her was a more powerful learning experience than a polite conversation.

"This is Tearle," Vaschel answered sternly. "She nearly cut ties with the Alliance. She's just here on Argent business. Actually, she's very curious about the Forsaken."

"And she is about to die for it," Phasilica hissed, staring directly at the human instead of Vaschel.

"_Excuse me, ma'am_," Tearle offered as politely as the tense situation allowed. "_Do you speak common? Lisys tells me she doesn't remember it, and can't even recall the pronunciation of certain names or towns—"_

Phasica took a heavy step forward, talking through her teeth and rolling up her sleeves. "_You ignorant little wretch, we are fighting a _war! _The old language was outlawed when our supposed families cast us aside. Many of us do not remember it, and we certainly don't appreciate being asked about it."_

Tearle took a step back, feeling honestly threatened. Even Vaschel had first approached her calmly before he realized they were essentially on the same side. This woman was in a rage.

"Hey, there's no need to be jealous," Vaschel leaned to the side, wrapping a massive arm around Phasilica's middle and half-lifted, half-pushed her back a step. "I was just talking to her. And she's nice, isn't she, Lisys?"

Lisys curled her fingers in Negate's sleeve, thinking he might attack Tearle while Phasilica was indisposed. She couldn't bring herself to trust a human, either, but saw no cause to kill her with Vaschel around to keep her in check any way. "...She seems nice... She said she likes what you did with my hair." The rogue met Negate's gaze briefly, then turned her face back to the ground.

While Phasilica gave Vaschel the most hateful of stares, debating her next move, Tearle noticed Negate for the first time. The human started, feeling safe enough to forget about the other priestess for the moment.

"_Holy light, you look just like my colleague," _she continued in Thalassian, assuming it was a safe bet that he spoke it.

Negate didn't need to ask who she was talking about, and felt he was above speaking directly to her. He slid an arm around Lisys's shoulders with a dark laugh. "Well! In my opinion, that alone is enough reason to kill her... but I'll leave it to you two. Lisys and I are done here."

Lisys tossed a glance over her shoulder at her arguing friends and the poor human caught in the middle, then turned her attention back to Negate. With her face turned, her nose nearly touched his cheek. She quickly looked away, but turned back toward him again, cautiously. "I really believe that human was just a scholar. I hope they don't hurt her... she and Phasilica are actually very similar."

"Phasilica wouldn't be stupid enough to wander into Elwynn Forest," Negate scoffed. "Speaking of, I learned something interesting today. You've met Phasilica before, when you were alive."

"She's Missus Andy," Lisys returned, as if this was common knowledge.

Negate released her, to her disappointment, to climb the fence, surprise registering on his face. "Really? You knew? For how long?"

"Ever since I saw her at Silvermoon for the first time... She still wears the same glasses sometimes, and dresses the same... didn't even change her hair style." Lisys hopped the rotting wood in one quick jump. "She didn't say anything though, so... I thought I shouldn't either. Most of us want to forget who we used to be. Mentioning specific life-details to another undead is rarely done... requesting them is reserved for only extremely intimate friends. She stopped going by that name, so... it was very clear to me where she stands on her past life."

"But earlier, you said you wanted to find Missus Andy's grave to let her know her name had been cleared." Negate considered the human, _Tearle,_ dead already, and did not spare one more glance behind him as they hit the path beside the farm.

Lisys walked slowly, and turned more than once. "I said that _to _let her know, without letting her know that I know. Phasilica was standing right there, she overheard me..."

Negate ran the statement through is head more than once before chuckling. "Ah, I see. You are more clever than I give you credit for."

Behind them, still sanding in the center of the field, Phasilica had calmed. She crossed an arm and chewed on her opposite thumbnail, staring at Tearle intently. "So Cevian sent you, then." She carried on in Thalassian, deciding it was a comfortable enough language for all three present.

"That's right." Tearle stood ready to defend herself, but refused to be intimidated by this woman.

Now Vaschel was annoyed, too. "That was foolish—and _selfish—_of him to send you into Horde territory. I'm sorry you got caught up in all of this, Miss Veicht."

The human tossed a small smile his way. "I'm not a baroness. Tearle is fine."

"I'm not sorry at all," Phasilica dropped her arms, cracking her fingers audibly. "I believe that Cevian—_your colleague—_and I are hunting the same necromancer. She's not here any longer, but she certainly has been. You could be useful."

Tearle was beginning to feel mislead. Happening upon someone unrelated hunting the same person hinted at more danger than she'd been warned of. "What's your stake in all this? How do you know Cevian?"

Phasilica opened her mouth to answer, but was interrupted by a rude laugh by Vaschel. She stopped to scowl at him.

"This is Phasilica. Phasilica _knows_ everyone, haha."

Glancing back and forth between the two, Tearle was starting to notice a dynamic that made her feel a bit out of place, except that the elf and the undead obviously hadn't yet realized it themselves. _The good ones are always taken or have boyfriends, _she thought with some disappointment, but let it go with a sigh and decided she ought to be less playful.

"And how could I help?" she asked very seriously.

Phasilica stepped forward, too close for Tearle's comfort, appearing to study her sincerity. "Well... You could disappear. When he doesn't find your body, he'll know something happened here."

Vaschel was ready to separate them, but the human did not appear threatened. Instead, she stared into Phasilica's eyes, noticing first that they appeared to be empty except for an unsettling yellow light, but she couldn't tell for sure, and next that each eyelash was painted individually—a ritual she herself considered a waste of time. She could draw a hundred conclusions about who this woman is, and who she was, just by staring at her eyes—the Forsaken were more interesting than she thought.

"Or," Phasilica backed away, frowning, "I suppose you could go home and tell him yourself."

"Then that is what I will do." Tearle crossed her arms, tugging at her sleeves unconsciously.

"I appreciate it," the undead said in a way that suggested she didn't appreciate it at all, but rather expected it.

"Fine, whatever, let's go," Vaschel shivered once, rubbing his arms briefly. "It's dropped twenty degrees since we've been standing here."

Phasilica turned, as if expecting something behind them. Suddenly she felt uneasy. "It has? Just now?"

"No, it's been cooling down steadily for a little while now. It is night now, isn't it?" Tearle asked, falling into step behind Vaschel toward the old burnt farmhouse.

"It is. I will accompany you to the Bulwark as well." Phasilica kept pace with Tearle behind the paladin, turning to watch their back so often that she completely missed the presence of another undead until the more observant Tearle stopped suddenly.

Vaschel stopped, too, also completely overlooking the stranger until he moved. He was leaning so quietly against what was left of the burnt-out house's frame that he seemed to belong there as part of the rotting construction. That he could walk right by him was unnerving.

Time stretched. Phasilica knew immediately somewhere in the back of her mind. He was tall, and wide-shouldered for an undead man. Most plague victims had time some to lose body mass to the ground, but the unnatural coloration of his hair told her he'd been buried for much, much longer, and raised from the dead by more potent necromancy after the fall of Lordaeron. His size now told her that he was a colossus in life—but the coincidence was too perfect. It seemed impossible. So she stared.

Parts of his face—namely his eyes—were obscured, but this was not uncommon among Forsaken and he dressed casually. He carried only a large sword, no more than Vaschel would bring for a walk through home territory.

"Miss Veicht..." the stranger spoke without looking up at her.

"Yes?" Tearle took a step forward, driven instinctively to trust someone who knew her name, without thinking that he'd likely picked it up just by listening in.

"Your friend is looking for you. Follow me," he pushed off the wall, and Tearle was prepared to follow him, if only out of curiosity. His voice was low and raspy, but passive and unintimidating in this context.

Phasilica's cold hand seizing her shoulder was more frightening. "Unbelievable..." she hissed, her nails drawing blood from the other priestess. "It's _you_."

The stranger centered his gaze on Phasilica, stony face unreadable, before drawing his sword and swinging in one fluid motion.

Vaschel reacted first, shouldering both women into the ground with two squeals that melted together, drawing his axe so quickly his belt nearly came with it. The sword met with the haft of his axe, dangerously close to his fingers in a sloppy block. He found almost immediately that he could not compete with the crushing downward pressure, and with his shield still on his back he could not roll away. He fell first on one knee, and to save himself from being cut in half, was forced to place one hand on the back of the one-bit blade.

The paladin managed to shift his opponent's force to the ground beside him instead, standing and drawing his shield just in time to block the second swing, an unprecedented recovery for a man wielding a two-hander Once more the force was phenomenal, and Vaschel staggered two steps back, nearly toppling.

"_Holy shit,"_ he breathed, waiting for the undead to draw his sword back again before putting both hands on his shield to ram him in the chest, pushing him back a couple of steps before the assailant recovered and he could muscle him back no further.

"What the hell is your problem!" Glancing downward, Vaschel was astonished to find that they'd fallen into the footprints they'd just left—literally back where they started.

Sihner did not answer, or give any indication that he'd heard Vaschel speak at all, incidentally distracting the paladin with his mysteriousness. Next swing, he sliced open the elf's side, the sword's edge poisoning his blood. His opponent paled for the next few minutes, but returned to health with only a short prayer and forced Sihner back with a heavy-hitting spell.

Vaschel stunned the Scourge warrior there for a few seconds, but he recovered before any serious damage and pushed back into their original positionsonce more.

To avoid being stepped on and likely crushed, Phasilica and Tearle had to roll more than once before they were safe to scramble to their feet again, shaking away mud and dead leaves.

"We can't just watch!" Tearle said while Phasilica was still straightening her robes, but Phasilica's demeanor did not change.

"We don't really have a choice. Forsaken death knights have incredible resistance to shadow magic."

Phasilica appeared confident, and it relaxed Tearle. "Forsaken death knight? … Why would someone go _back _to the Lich King?"

"You'll have to ask him." Hatred tweaked the corner of Phasilica's lip. "Anyway, you can heal if you like, but you'll only get yourself death gripped."

Sword locked against Vaschel's shield spike, Sihner leaned forward, his own blade touching his chest. His voice never changed. "We are at an impasse, paladin, and I am not here to fight with you."

"So walk away!" Vaschel snarled, staggering the death knight with a hard shove, but he recovered before the next swing. Both men were built to hold their ground—heavy, but not heavy-hitting.

"I'm here for her," he gestured toward Tearle. "She won't be harmed."

The elf chuckled at the absurdity. "Yeah? I don't think she wants to go with you. I got all night."

Several more strikes and dodges ensued without another word. Old, rotten blood from all the lost souls buried beneath the field bubbled up to the surface, forming a hissing acid soon overpowered by Vaschel blessing the same piece of ground.

Sihner had time to think, staring hard at the elf's green eyes. In some ways, he was fighting himself thirty years ago, and he knew Vaschel was telling the truth. It would take hours—maybe even days, of tireless fighting. He could last—but the priestesses would toss in aid here and there, and at best an unrelated Horde ally would appear sooner or later and Sihner would eventually lose.

However, the more he fought with this elf, the more Vaschel started to look familiar. Sihner doubted they had ever met, but he was sure he'd seen the paladin before. The situation warranted a small gamble.

Only a few feet away, the human was staring at Phasilica, a bit frantic.

"Did he say _me? _What could he want with _me_? I have never seen this man—!"

Sihner threw all of his weight behind a massive, almost desperate strike, staggering Vaschel back. Before the paladin could regain himself, the death knight dashed between the priestesses, giant sword in one hand, and seized a handful of Phasilica's hair.

Tearle scrambled backwards, attempting a psychic scream that was completely resisted. She immediately tried a similar, more powerful spell to the same end, and for a moment could only stand in awe. Phasilica wasn't exaggerating. She'd fought death knights before—this was different. Shadow spells were nearly useless here.

"I can kill her before you kill me, paladin." Sihner pulled up on the woman's hair demonstratively, causing a sharp cry as she rose to her toes.

Thin fingers clawing at Sihner's wrist, Phasilica turned to Tearle briefly with a wide-eyed stare, mouthing a Common word very clearly, _go._

Tearle took a step back, hesitant to leave another priestess to die.

Phasilica turned her head as hard as she could to Vaschel, shouting. "Let him kill me, you can r—"

Sihner released her hair and seized her throat instead, lifting up until her feet left the ground. The sound was _horrifying _and the human was sickened to see his thumb and middle finger nearly met in the back.

Vaschel's blood pounded so hard in his ears that he nearly missed the death knight speak.

"This is up to _you, _paladin, not her. Do you want to take your chances with a resurrection?"

Tearle's entire body numbed as she watched Vaschel process the question slowly, then hang his head. She turned, the sound of Phasilica's body hitting the ground behind her inspiring her to sprint harder than possible unless absolutely terrified.

But it wasn't enough. She'd barely made it fifteen yards before a powerful force encircled her torso, compressing the air from her lungs in a gasp. It snapped her backwards with a shriek cut off abruptly by a violent collision with the death knight's chest. Winded, tears spilled out of Tearle's eyes as he hoisted her over his shoulder roughly and opened a death gate without another word to Phasilica or Vaschel. He was gone before either could protest.

Silence rolled over the tiny field—a quiet so powerful it seemed impossible that a conflict of such magnitude had ever taken place there, let alone only seconds ago. Phasilica's voice attempted to erase the void, but was a poor filler.

"Vaschel!" she clawed at the ground, head reeling. "Why! I would have been fine! You've resurrected a hundred times! You've been resurrected! So... so why!"

Vaschel sat down heavily where he stood. He did not say anything, and he did not look up, platinum strands of hair blowing around his face in a gentle breeze before settling again around his shoulders.

Arriving once more in Brill, Negate suggested they stop for the night, but Lisys protested strongly.

"No! No! …" Meeting with Negate's confused stare, she attempted to smooth her overreaction. "We'll never get out of this place with that attitude. And you _hate _it here, and I would _hate _for you to spend another minute here."

The warlock quirked an eyebrow. "We're heading through more of old Lordaeron. It will just be more of the same as far as I am concerned."

Unable to think of another excuse, Lisys nodded and lowered her eyes. "... you're right... I guess we should sleep."

The elf continued toward the inn, brushing it off for the moment. "Did that human ever tell you what she was doing here?"

"Mmhm. She was hunting a necromancer," she followed Negate into the inn reluctantly.

"My father _would _send a naïve human to hunt down a necromancer," Negate scoffed. "I wonder if she's looking for that scary witch we saw in that field a few weeks back."

Lisys shivered hard. "... usually... necromancers don't frequent anywhere in particular... or they would get caught. I assumed that lady would have moved on by now... but if it's worth looking for her here... maybe not."

Negate paused before the stairs, looking over his shoulder at Lisys. She appeared frightened, but this was not unusual. "What do you know about necromancers?"

"Oh, very little I suppose..."

The warlock shrugged and continued up. "Fun fact, Phasilica's mother is a scourge necromancer. I never asked her much more about it, though. Seemed rude."

"I- I sure hope they catch her..." Lisys drew a shuddering breath, unable to imagine sleeping so close to that field.

*END CHAPTER 34*

_A/N_ _if I had to guess I'd saaay... 10 – 15 chapters left maybe? But I am not very good at guessing these things. x) It always takes me longer to get through certain points than I think it will, so I am trying to be very generous with my estimate. _

_I look forward to writing comics and being done with this story, since I know that the comics will have much better stories. Parts of this fic are pretty rough, I am surprised anyone got through it... x)_


	38. Chapter 35

/SET LOCATION: THE ACHERUS

When Tearle realized where this death knight had brought her, she cried. Her shoulders barely moved and she hardly uttered a sound, not out of fear but for lack of energy until the inevitability of her situation took hold. The distance between awareness and acceptance was short; still, her face was resting on a wet spot in his shirt when she quieted.

From over Sihner's shoulder, all she could see was a grimacing ghoul in front of a great balcony. Even squinting hard, she could not see land in the distance, and she guessed she might not even see it if she stood at the ledge and looked directly down. She'd heard stories before of arrogant priests or mages scaling the tallest mountains in Azeroth on a bet that they could levitate down, only to die of exhaustion before they hit the ground.

She understood it was usually gruesome... and yet the layers and layers of blood on the bricks made her think that falling was preferable. If she thought there was any way to squirm free, she would have made for the ledge in an instant. Instead, she hung a bit limply, but not entirely deadweight, taking enough morbid interest in this place where she would certainly die to study it halfheartedly.

Out on the balcony, some daylight penetrated the thick smog. It felt unnatural and she didn't like it until it was gone only seconds later as he carried her deeper into the Acherus, characterized by blue and green torches lit with witchcraft. They passed undead of every sort; some stared at her—some with unsettling hunger—and others paid her no mind because she was not the only living being within the dark halls. Straining, she could hear other voices and sense their vitality, screaming as they were fed to the geists.

Holding Tearle tightly against his shoulder with his right arm, he reached behind his head to fiddle with the leather straps partially hiding his face. He unhooked one buckle clumsily, his dominant hand occupied, then pulled the obstruction off his face from the front, ripping some of his hair away with the second. He dropped the garment on the floor, shaking away its imprint. Though she could not see his face, she could _feel_ his eyes opening, and it made her queasy.

"What will you do with me?" she asked, and it took him so long to answer she thought he had just ignored her.

"What I would do with you doesn't matter."

That answer was somehow more frightening than if he'd simply given a straight answer, no matter how gruesome it could be. She squirmed, hoping to be put down, but gave up when he stopped suddenly in a narrow hallway. She would consider all areas of the Acherus crowded, but this one less so. Only a few ghostly necromancers appeared, eyeing Tearle as they passed by close to the wall—the space was very claustrophobic.

Rows of rotten wooden doors on either side made Tearle believe these were sort of living quarters. When Sihner knocked, the door bowed under his fist. Inside, she could hear two female voices quarreling. No one answered immediately, and he set Tearle on her feet.

As soon as her shoes met the stone, she turned to sprint away in any direction out of pure instinct, but he reached out and snatched a fistful of her hair and halted her immediately. He didn't even look up—Tearle surmised this was not his first kidnapping.

The arguing behind the door quieted, and finally it opened. A familiar face appeared, and sent Tearle's head reeling. Could all of those people she'd met in that field have been working for the Scourge the whole time? That didn't make sense, because they fought the death knight, and while she understood that blood elf paladins could cheat the light a little...

The priestess rubbed her wide eyes, frowning, trying to remember the name. "...Phasilica...?"

The undead behind the door giggled, turning back into the room and opening the door wider as she did. "Jaqlyn! You'll never believe this."

Sihner stepped inside, dragging an awed Tearle along beside him. The room was not large, but certainly bigger than the hall led her to believe, and it was surprisingly comfortable—a window and a canopy bed, a few cushioned couches. The décor was old and long since out-of-fashion, and there was a layer of dust on nearly everything that made Tearle feel as if she were in a tiny section of an old, ruined castle. Only repeated glances to the tight hallway reminded her that this area was probably once more military in nature.

The room certainly belonged to a female, someone accustomed the finer things. Although Tearle was impressed, she guessed that the owner was someone of arrogance who would not be wholly satisfied with converted barracks.

Sitting at a vanity was, Tearle assumed, the resident. She was in the middle of straightening heavy makeup—typical to cultists—that was mussed in the previous catfight. She, too, bore a striking resistance to Phasilica.

Jaqlyn turned in her little stool, and immediately centered a cold gaze on the human in her midst. Her lips curled. "What is _this?"_

"Your spy." Sihner thrust Tearle forward, releasing her hair.

The priestess stumbled toward the center of the room, rubbing her scalp furiously. She was instantly aware of extra attention on her and wanted to crawl back behind the man who'd dragged her here.

Jaqlyn jumped to her feet, fists balled. "Are you _insane? _Without a body he'll know we were involved. Rip out her throat and leave her where you found her. Let Cevian think the Forsaken guard killed her."

"Wait," Angelina held up her hand before Tearle could gasp, directing a dark smile to Sihner. "It won't matter, will it? You ran into Phasilica and let her go."

"_What_?" Jaqlyn marched across the room in a fury, Tearle flinching as she passed. It was clear immediately that this rail-thin woman was in charge here. She stood literally toe-to-toe with him, gnashing her teeth and angry enough to spit. "I have been trying to find her in the open for years! Why didn't you bring her here?"

The hysteria bubbling under a thin surface of makeup and self-control reminded Tearle more of an old wife catching her husband out to dinner with a young woman than a powerful necromancer encountering what should have been a minor complication. A death knight could over-power your average caster at any time, and what's the likelihood that _Phasilica_ would never leave a major city again?

Sihner was completely unfazed. "Abby already explained it to you. Send us in pairs. I hardly got away with this one—that paladin will not let Phasilica go as long as he has a choice."

Jaqlyn raised a thin arm across her chest and backhanded the death knight, her boney knuckles splitting his cheek. "Ass! You let her go on purpose! You orchestrated this entire thing to fuck me, you think I don't know? You think I believe you're that stupid? You could have let the spy go! With Phasilica under my thumb, Cevian is completely irrelevant!" She rose her arm again, but Angelina distracted her, and she turned instead to hear her daughter speak.

"You give Phasilica too much credit! She is smart, but so is Professor Voidbreaker, hm? Besides, she won't come back here." Angelina smiled impishly. "But it's not as bad as you think. She's too proud to tell Cevian where to find you, if she even knows. You could probably kill her and her lover if it comes to it... and then it will still take Cevian time to find you. So there you have it... something like six months to live, plenty of time to put your affairs in order."

Instead of responding with more violence, Jaqlyn approached Tearle to stand beside her calmly, looking the human over while still speaking to Angelina. The attention made the priestess extremely uncomfortable, and if not for Jaqlyn's occasional glances to Angelina instead, Tearle might have dashed to the other side of the room.

"You're right about one thing, my dear. Your sister is very intelligent, and cautious as well. Just two of the reasons I've always liked her better than you. In case Phasilica does tattle on me, we will keep this girl alive and well, and use her as a bargaining chip should I run into Cevian shortly. In the meantime, I will mend my monster... and then none of my enemies will matter."

"... Excuse me, does that mean you're _not _going to kill me?" Tearle asked hopefully, looking up under Jaqlyn's scrutinizing gaze for the first time.

Jaqlyn took Tearle's chin in her icy talons, tilting her head up to examine her neck, and to the side to see her cheeks. For a moment, Tearle desperately wished she'd jumped off the balcony. "So long as you are useful, human, it's your lucky day," she said with false kindness, before turning to Angelina again. "She's a bit common, don't you think? Pretty her up a little."

Angelina giggled, covering her mouth daintily. "Don't be silly. We can't keep a human up here; she'll freeze to death."

"Not all of our necromancers are dead—ask how they do it," Jaqlyn seized Tearle's shoulders and impatiently shoved her toward Angelina, who stood up to catch the human priestess hastily.

Tearle shivered and struggled until she was free, but did not stray far. She didn't feel safe with anyone in this room, but resolved that Angelina was preferable to Jaqlyn. She stared hard at the floor while Angelina picked a few flecks of dirt off of the human's face and ran her boney fingers through her hair.

Jaqlyn turned to Sihner, cracking her fingers as she flexed them in thought. "... Bring Saiynt back here. I need to take her apart."

"Why?" Sihner demanded immediately, surprising both Angelina and Tearle, even though she'd only known him for a few minutes.

"Haven't you been listening?" Jaqlyn's voice took on a dangerous tone. "Because of this clever game you've been playing, I need to repair the beast _now_."

"Saiynt is infinitely more useful to you than I am!" he countered, holding his arms out. Emotional displays, complete with hand gestures, were so rare to him that Angelina stopped and turned, watching almost in awe.

"Believe me, I'd love to keep them both!" Jaqlyn snarled, a familiar rage possessing her again. Tearle situated Angelina between herself and the angry witch. "But you're too big. Maybe later I will melt you down into something useless just for the hell of it."

"Then use someone else!"

"Like who?"

Sihner relaxed, averting his eyes for a moment. "Lisys is still around somewhere."

"But! But, but... Remember? Lisys was a husk. If she's even still alive, there's barely anything useful there, remember? Hm? Neutrality will weaken Nadia. You might as well let her fall apart!" Angelina stood on her toes, nervously fidgeting with her robes.

"She was never a _husk. _After what you put that family through... you expected her to act normal?" Sihner crossed his arms, staring at Jaqlyn hatefully. "You don't have to trust me. The human spoke to her an hour ago."

Jaqlyn turned to Angelina and Tearle, marching down a short warpath and shoving her daughter out of the way. Tearle was practically compressed in a corner, terrified.

"Tonight you meat a Forsaken, my daughter, named Phasilica. Who else?"

"I- I met an- an elf," she stammered. Now that she had been cornered, she struggled with an urge to fight the woman away.

"An undead!" Jaqlyn snarled, grasping the front of Tearle's tunic. "Did you meet another undead?"

Angelina pulled uselessly at Jaqlyn's arms. The necromancer was incredibly strong. "You're going to give her a heart attack!"

"Yes," Tearle swallowed hard, numbing herself. "She kept her face covered and she carried daggers, a- a rogue, I assume. She never said her name; she was clearly frightened by me."

"Ugh!" Angelina tossed a furious gaze Sihner's way as Jaqlyn released Tearle.

Tearle leaned against the wall with a heavy sigh. "But... she was with another elf... He looked just like Cevian, so, if you're worried about Cevian finding you..." Tearle wished the timid undead she'd met in the field no harm, and it would weigh on her for a while if her story meant this witch would _take Lisys apart,_ whatever horrifying literal or metaphorical meaning that had.

"His son, probably! What if we have to kill him? That doesn't seem wise," Angelina added nervously, grasping at straws.

"With my pet rebuilt, none of that will matter," Jaqlyn pat Tearle's head appreciatively. "All of you, get out of my sight. Put the human as far away from the basement as possible so the geists don't find their way to her."

Angelina hung her head, taking Tearle by the arm and leading her out behind Sihner. Tearle followed with minimal tugging.

As soon as the door was closed behind them, Angelina kicked the back of Sihner's knees with no affect and shouted at his back. "Why would you say that! Why would you re-involve Lisys in this nightmare?"

Sihner turned to her with a neutral look, then continued walking, easily outpacing her.

"Argh," Angelina kicked at the stones with every step, only looking up when Tearle suddenly pulled her arm away.

"I can walk on my own," Tearle whispered a bit bitterly.

/ SET LOCATION: BRILL

Lisys sat just outside the tiny undead village, back against a tree, scraping at the ground with a dagger. It would dull the blade, but she wasn't concerned about it. She could always get a new one.

She and Negate had barely slept an hour when there sounded a knock at the door, which turned out to be Negatory and Dawnn, a boy Lisys met only once a long time ago, and they started awake. A whirlwind of shouting and confusion ensued which only magnified when Phasilica and Vaschel returned in the middle of it all.

Eventually, they learned from Phasilica that the priestess from the field was abducted by a death knight Lisys recognized by description, even though Phasilica did not give his name. Vaschel fought him hard, but they came to a stalemate and he was forced to let the death knight leave with the human.

Simultaneously, Dawnn informed Vaschel that their nephew had been found murdered, there were no suspects, and _not enough left for a real funeral service. _Vaschel looked so defeated, so far away from his usual bubbly self, that he could have easily passed for someone else. Negate apologized immediately and said that all was forgiven—hell, he couldn't even remember why he was angry!—but it was hardly any consolation.

Lisys, feeling like an unnecessary extra, left them then, a disturbed feeling in the pit of her stomach. Someone once told her that everything she touched would descend into misery, and although it was baseless superstition, the thought returned in force every time she pushed it away.

She gathered that Vaschel's nephew was the effeminate boy she and Negate met briefly in the Ghostlands. They were only with him for maybe a half a day... and with Tearle only a few minutes. Still, the sheer timing was so close to be coincidental and Lisys could not shake the feeling that this was her fault somehow. There was a connection, and if she waited a while, it would appear.

At some point in the whole mess, Negatory handed Lisys a faceless doll, listlessly explaining that she began working on it a long time ago, and didn't feel like finishing it now... but she still wanted Lisys to have it anyway. It was attached to her belt now, and when she went to sheath her dagger, she accidentally cut a tuft of hair from it. The low grunt of a ghoul sounded from the trees while Lisys retrieved the doll to survey the damage. She was not startled by the noise, nor by the sound of its footsteps approaching, because she had been expecting it for quite some time. She remained fixated on the toy until she decided the damage was superficial and returned it to her belt. Finally looking up again, Saiynt was standing right in front of her.

"I wasn't really sure you would even come this close to Brill," Lisys heaved a sigh, crossing her legs underneath her to make room. "But I didn't want to go too far and worry Negate."

"Hah! I ain't be caring about offin' a few guards," Saiynt scoffed, dropping to a sit in front of Lisys, their knees touching. Behind her, her ghoul looked around wildly and moved this way and that, interested in every new sound, but never straying far. "Damn I looked _everywhere _for ya."

Lisys rubbed her eyes. That wasn't what she was hoping to hear. "Why?"

"Well, the othah' day I was thinkin'," Saiynt squirmed uncomfortably, tossing her matted hair. "I cain' even remember why I rejoined the Scourge in the first damn place... isn't that odd?"

"_That's _what you wanted to talk to me about?" Lisys frowned.

"Uh huh! It's kina' important, yeah?"

The rogue sighed. "Just a few hours ago, Mr. Xanthic kidnapped a human girl. Why?"

"I own't fuckin' know," Saiynt answered, leaning forward when Lisys gave another disappointed sigh. "What? You own't believe me? It's true! He's mad at me... He idn't used to remember hardly nothin', an' I didn't tell him his daughter was around a'cuz I can't fuckin' stand her. Then he remembered everything awl at once, and got awl pissed awf... like it was my fuckin' fault. Maybe if he wasn't such a piss-poor daddy _she _woulda talked to _him, _yeah? But I own't even care, he can stay mad at me forever, see if I even care, I own't care..." she grumbled something else incomprehensibly, crossing her arms with a stubborn look.

Lisys dried her eyes even though they weren't wet out of habit. "That's such a load of horseshit, Saiynt."

"It's true!" Saiynt insisted, startling her ghoul.

s

"Someone found an elf boy up north, mutilated by the Deadscar just hours after Negate and I left. Do you know anything about _that_?"

The death knight put her palms on her knees, leaning forward. She stared hard at Lisys thoughtfully. "... Yeah, okay. That one was me. But I was jus' lookin' for _you!_ He said he saw you real snotty-like, then he wouldn' tell me nothin' else! He was fuckin' askin' for it, an' you know how I feel about elves anyway, shit... I woulda let him go if he said somethin'...!"

Lisys shook her head in disbelief. "... I don't know why you rejoined the Scourge. You never said anything to me about it. I just hadn't seen you for a while, and then... next time, you were a death knight. You never wanted to follow Sylvanas, but taking orders was never your style either. Honestly, I was surprised you rejoined. I thought you'd stay independent."

"Well shit."

"And you're talking a little differently, too."

"How?"

"A little more clear. It's subtle. You sound like I did when Missus Andy first started teaching me how rich people talk and act..." Lisys straightened her clothes sadly. "They're doing something to you. I think you're in over your head."

"Where'd ya get that? I just talk a little prettier, yeah? I'm fine. I always been a little off-balance, you know 'at. Asides, the Scourge ain' _awl_ bad. I always thought that. I ain' like the orders, but... it ain' awl bad."

Lisys nodded, standing up. Her heart ached. She and Saiynt had something in common, a pain that they could communicate with eye contact, a history they didn't like to talk about but desperately craved another to understand. And she wasn't without redeeming qualities... she was quirky and protective, and sometimes even kind in her own way. "I don't think that I should talk to you anymore, Saiynt."

"What'd'ya mean?"

"Don't follow me, okay? I know you can take the guards, but you just killed the nephew of a very powerful man, and... I'm not going to tell him... but just in case, okay?" Lisys turned back toward Brill.

Saiynt sat stunned for a minute, before shouting after her. "Hey... if that elf meant somethin' to you, I'm sawry, all right!" but Lisys ignored her.

/SET LOCATION: THERAMORE ISLE

"Nooo!" Angel howled, throwing a tantrum complete with tears and fist-pounding on Leland's chest. It was a gray day, as they all were in Theramore, and nearly every human passer-by stopped to stare. The high elves only spared quick glances, writing off her behavior as an ill-mannered half-elf behaving like an ill-mannered half-elf.

"Angel, stop it," Leland suggested more than ordered. He felt for her.

She kicked her legs furiously, long strands of black hair sticking to her running nose as she struggled. "You don't even like her! You probably _hope_ she dies!" Hate tinged her young voice.

"I'm not going to die," Adel sighed, less sympathetic. She tried to explain that the crocolisks in the surrounding marsh weren't actually that strong, but it was impossible for Angel's eight-year-old mind to wrap around the idea that any creature with that many teeth could be overpowered with _caution. _She knew this was beyond Angel's understanding, and that it wasn't Angel's fault, but she still found it frustrating.

"But I don't want you to go! You can't! You can't!" Angel stopped struggling and descended into a fit of sobs. The half-elf had gone through three families that she could remember having loved all of them however briefly she was there, and they weren't even her _real _family, like Adel and Leland. She yet lacked the words to express her fear, so lashed out instead.

Leland and Adel had taken Angel between Theramore, Stormwind, and Ironforge too many times to count, meeting nearly every diplomat for the Alliance who had ever been to Quel'thalas. The blood elves broke with the Alliance abruptly and violently and high elves were considered traitors of the highest order.

Nonetheless, it was possible in rare cases for a high elf to return to the homeland for very short-term business, usually a funeral or for some neutral humanitarian effort.

Finally, after turning up nothing, another high elf in the Stormwind Port overheard Leland and Adel arguing over their plight. He brought up the name of a blood elf, saying that for a lavish fee, this man often did a bit of digging for high elves looking for family _on the other side._ It seemed a bit of a long shot to trust an extortionist, but Adel and Leland agreed, for once, that it was a top priority to return Angel to her immediate family.

Angel was excited about this new lead until she learned all the little details... like that Adel would have to cross contested territory to meet with their contact while she and Leland stayed behind. The half-elf didn't sleep well for a few days, hoping that they would change their minds. Now that Leland was carrying her to the gates of Theramore to see Adel off, her anguish exploded.

"I don't even care about my parents..." she muttered miserably.

"You should," Adel reached out to smooth the little girl's dark hair. "Your father is a very remarkable man... I can hardly wait to see him again. You'll love him."

Angel shrunk into Leland, avoiding her aunt's touch with a pout. "But I love you guys!"

"Oh shit," Leland sighed, rubbing his forehead. This day was packed with more feelings than he'd experienced in years. "Adel will be fine, I promise. Look, we're here. Give her a hug before she goes." He simply leaned toward Adel in lieu of setting Angel down, knowing he'd have to pry them apart.

At first Angel refused, thinking that maybe it would force Adel to stay, but when the ranger shrugged it off and began to string her bow, Angel howled and screamed that she stop and give her the promised hug.

True to Leland's prediction, he had to peel Angel's tiny arms away from Adel's neck one by one after a full minute. "She'll be fine."

"I'll be fine," Adel repeated, turning to leave without a look back. She'd be lying if she said she hadn't grown attached to her little niece, but the thought that she could see her brothers again drove her forward relentlessly. She could never get along with her sisters very well, but she had always been full of little-sisterly worship for Vaschel, and she made a conscious effort to be close with Dawnn even before he knew they were related.

Angel fought to be released for a while, until Adel was out of sight, and then relaxed again, anger and frustration sliding away until there was just sadness and fear left. She pulled at Leland's jacket unhappily.

"You're tougher. Why couldn't you go?" she pouted.

Leland sighed. He agreed with that statement, and felt some guilt in sending Adel instead. "Because someone had to stay and watch you." It was out-of-the-question to tell an eight-year-old that there was something _not quite right _about her aunt and he didn't trust her alone with a young child, so after a moment of thought, he added, "And she's much, much tougher than I am."

Angel scowled, too young to know the truth and too old to be fooled.

"She'll be fine," he promised again, deciding he'd earned himself quite the drink. "Let's go get you something to eat."


	39. Chapter 36

/SET LOCATION: LORDAERON 20 YEARS AGO

Rachel rolled over her pigtails and tucked them into her ribbons again, took her bow in one hand and the tree branch in another. She pulled herself up quickly and wrapped her legs around it, then allowed her already-rosy face to drift back toward the ground, upside-down. She miscalculated both the strength of the tree, which creaked in protest, and the height of the bow, but thanks to sheer luck, she avoided both a sudden drop and a face-full of dirt; platinum blonde stray hairs barely grazed the ground.

Her quiver emptied itself on the ground, and she had to pick arrows out of the grass to unload on a shoddy target painted on a tree several yards away.

Sihner rested against the same tree, nudging a single candle on the ground away from Rachel with his foot. It had nearly caught her hair.

"Is this about that prisoner?" Rachel's Common was awkward, but intelligible, learned hastily before close military cooperation with humans and reviewed many times for similar assignments.

"Shit, be careful..."

"Why? If I bust up my pretty face, won't you like me anymore?"

He thought about reminding her that she was drunk, but it seemed as pointless as reminding her that she was an elf or tall.

"Hmm, hmm, hmmm," she lined up a shot, but released early, making a perfect bullseye twice as sweet. "Damn! What did you ask me? Oh, Jaqlyn. I don't think I have seen her here. Did she tell you that she was working with the... on the construction? … hic! Oh, excuse me. I think Mrs. Andy is nearly alone on that. But maybe. I am mostly on guard duty... can you believe the people here are desperate enough to steal lumber from a church? Isn't that sad? Besides, I am not sure I remember what she looks like."

Rachel dropped, and Sihner turned, certain she'd taken a nasty spill and _busted up her pretty face,_ but was relieved to see she was crouching, on her feet.

"Thanks anyway," he turned, but she grabbed his arm.

"Wait, wait. I had a favor to ask, too." He pulled away, so she grabbed her candle to hurry after him. "That tiny girl... did she really kill all those people?"

"Yes."

"So she will die."

"Yes."

Rachel shuddered. "_But she's so small, I don't know how you do what you do..._" She shook her head, clearing her thoughts. "Can I talk to her?"

"No..." he stopped, lifting an eyebrow at her.

"I want to ask her a few questions, quickly. Can you really say no... even if you know the _villain_ I am tracking?"

"Saiynt won't speak with an elf. She doesn't like them."

"That's... sort of why... I need to talk to her."

Sihner stared at her face for a whole minute before speaking. "What do you want to ask her?"

"I have to do it," Rachel frowned. "You're no hunter. Think about your daughter... _oh my light!" _the ranger's hands snapped to her mouth to conceal a gasp, dropping the candle. "That was like... five years ago today or this week, right? I can't believe I forgot, and your friend... oh, oh _belore, _I am so, so sorry..." She stood on her toes, tossing her arms around his neck and holding tightly.

The human watched the candle flicker. He stepped on the wick experimentally, and it started again when he moved his boot. "Robert was not my friend."

"Mm, but you worked with him for like, ten years right? Come back with me, keep me company. _No man is an island_, mm? You can go back to work later. You're tired; I can tell."

He reached behind him and pried her arms off, catching a glimpse of her pouting face between her slender wrists in his hands. "Stop. I will see you later."

"You are so pale. Try to get some sleep tonight, for me? Humans... people... aren't meant to work for hours in underground prisons. You are going to die before I do... but try to put it off."

Phasilica, perpetually "working late_,"_ brushed her hair hastily and cleared running face paint underneath her eyes with the edge of Vaschel's shirt, still lying on the floor.

Vaschel lounged on her desk, arms behind his head, chewing the end of a weed. "Killed her whole family? That's really messed up. No wonder that little redhead was so scared. What will happen to her?"

"Robert was a friend of my father's for many, many years. Avarett will make sure Jibreel is well-taken care of."

"That's good."

"Are you going to move? I need some things out of my desk."

"Why are you in such a hurry?" Vaschel sat up, but leaned back again when she attempted to snatch some papers.

"I told you I would be busy tonight. I am not playing, Vaschel, I need to leave."

Vaschel reached around her desk, sliding open a drawer and producing her spectacles. "Here. What's going on? Usually you have hours to waste with me, haha. Nanny quit again?"

"No, just..." Phasilica sighed. "You will find out tomorrow anyway. I had a sister who died five years ago tomorrow. That's why Avarett came home."

Vaschel jumped up, setting his massive hands on her tiny shoulders. "Oh shit... I'm really, really sorry."

"For a human, five years is a long time." She brushed his hands off, her voice stiff. She wasn't lying entirely—on certain days, when she left Vaschel to return to her husband, and Leland, now a teenager, she felt like her sister had never been apart of this life. She couldn't even imagine what Angelina might think about Mason, born well after her death, or the near annihilation of Robert's entire family _by_ his own family. The Azeroth she lived in now was too strange, too fantastic to ever explain to a ghost from the past.

But other days, she could easily recreate the pinprick of pain when Cevian told her he would return to his wife in Quel'Thalas as if he had just told her, and she could remember Leland's first steps, and promising a fresh headstone that she would name her first daughter Angel like it was yesterday.

The circumstances were what gripped her—Angelina did not die in an accident, or of an illness, or by chance of any form. Her death was calculated and executed by Jaqlyn, who was rumored to have said _why on Azeroth would I ever need two?_ at their very birth.

Phasilica felt guilty; guilty that she was Jaqlyn's favorite, guilty that she got to live, and guilty that she would raise her sister's son, mistreat her sister's fiance, and even that she hadn't yet conceived the daughter she promised Angelina's headstone. She could not be aware of it yet, but guilt would define the rest of her life, accompanying every situation and entering every decision, still clinging to her heart even as she climbed back out of the grave.

The young priestess distracted herself as best she could. "So, there will be a memorial service for her tomorrow. The whole damn city will probably attend... I will be speaking."

"You don't sound like you want to." He sat atop her desk again, reaching for her wrist and tugging gently. He had such an empathetic way about him—not just in his words or his tone, but in his movements and his face. He was too sweet to judge, too humble to even want to. His life was easy enough to keep him optimistic but hard enough to make him understand. A little naive, but otherwise he was the perfect tool for extracting anything out of anyone without even realizing it.

"It's just so... sick," she sat down beside him, her face falling on his shoulder. "Society, I mean. A close friend of mine, Abby, died right around the same time, trying to find her killer..."

Vaschel started, turning slightly to face her. She didn't notice, and he relaxed, wrapping his arm around her and deciding not to press it just yet.

"... and yet, no one demands that the peasants leave their fields and looms and livelihoods to come and observe the anniversary of her death."

"Didn't you mention once that she was a criminal?"

Phasilica scoffed, laying her face against his chest, forgetting her make-up for the time being. "That doesn't matter... Gold is all that matters. My husband's father died obscenely young, slaving his life away in an underground prison 18 hours at a time, six days a week. Few people have heard of Matthew Andy. But if Leland works with his father for an hour, the whole town buzzes with his sacrifice... because Leland is my son, and rich people are always good people. Everything they do is good. Their... our... every action is glorified. Even our deaths. It isn't right. Angelina was special to me and to her family. We shouldn't ask for sorrow from anyone else, and I shouldn't have to tolerate conjured sympathy from flightless peasants who want to feel closer to the birds... I'm sorry, this is sounding incredibly selfish."

"Grief is always selfish. It's okay," He rubbed her arm, and kissed her head, starting when she pulled away suddenly.

"Isn't that Rachel?" Phasilica lowered her voice to a whisper, relieved to be on something else. The 'windows' in her makeshift office had no glass. It was extremely rare for someone to wander past in the dead of night, but if someone did, they could easily hear anyone inside. "She is supposed to be guarding my lumber..." she crouched below the sill.

Vaschel dropped, too, crawling over beside her and peeking out the window. He bit his tongue, literally, to prevent an angry cry from leaving his mouth. "Who is that and why is he touching my sister!?" he hissed.

Phasilica clamped a hand over her mouth to conceal a burst of laughter. Hundreds of replies flooded her mind—quips as short as _duh, _insults as intricate as _was that a serious question? Your sisters' legendary harlotry rivals my own!_ And everything in between—but she judged them all to be too harsh. She swallowed her giggle fit. "It looks to me like she is touching him."

Vaschel shot a glare her way, then rolled around to sit with his back against the wall, putting a hand on his forehead with a heavy sigh. "Holy light..." He looked as if something had physically hit him.

"What? What is it?" Phasilica felt his forehead instinctively, concerned he was ill.

"Nothing, I just... well, here I am, about to break a vessel in my neck because my sister is hugging someone, haha. I always worried that Rachel would get married to someone far away. I have three little sisters, all very close in age, and just six months younger than I am. They all married very young, one right after another, to three undeserving little puffballs from Fairbreeze, just a day's trip but _sunwell,_ I got so trashed and bawled loudly through the whole service. They insist I ruined all three weddings, I was so surprised both times I was invited to the next one, hah... but... if they died... if any one of them _died..._"

It was fascinating to watch him try to wrap his mind around the idea. As an elf, he and his family were promised a solid 200 years together, so long as they didn't do anything drastically stupid. There weren't many diseases that affected his people, and murder was an extreme rarity in Quel'Thalas. He stared at the ceiling, reaching desperately for a concept that was so foreign he wouldn't understand it for another two decades.

"Holy light... I'm sorry to bring it up again, I just... I don't know what I would do. I'm not strong enough up here, you know?" He pointed at his head. "I've always had this huge family. I don't think I could go on without them."

/ SET LOCATION: LORDAERON, PRESENT

"Are you sure you're okay?" Negate paced a little before the zepplin tower. He felt petty, horrid even, for holding a grudge in the days leading up to the death of his nephew.

"Yes," Vaschel answered nonchalantly, without thinking about it. The sky and the ground seemed to have traded places, and he felt as if he could be dreaming. It felt strange, but not unpleasant. More numb than anything.

But the paladin did not _look _okay. His face was stubbly around his goatee, he hadn't brushed his hair. He sat on the stairs over-looking the Undercity side. He was unusually pale and had a bottle next to his feet, which was normal, but his hand shook every time he reached for it.

"Are you sure?" Dawnn rubbed the back of his neck, face drawn and sad. Unlike Negate, who was usually quite amicable toward Vaschel with the exception of the past few days, Dawnn had fought with his brother on and off for years.

Vaschel laughed, tipping his head way back to finish the bottom of the bottle. "Ahh! Yeah! Actually, I expected this. Didn't you kind of see this coming? You're probably next!" He pointed at Dawnn with a heavy, forced laugh. "Ahh... stop looking at me like that. It will be kind of a relief! You'll never sleep with my lover again, because you'd be dead! Haha, stop taking me so seriously. I don't really want you to die. I'd be devastated! You're all I have left now."

Dawnn and Negate exchanged worried glances as Vaschel stood up, tossing a meaty arm around his brother's shoulders.

"What was it that started all of that again? You loved me when you were little! You didn't hate me until you were like... fourteen... Ahh, that's right... I didn't tell you who your father was. No, no, I understand, I would be mad too! But I didn't make the rules. Rachel and I agreed it would be up to your mother, and she didn't want you to know... and if it wasn't for Adel running her smart mouth, you still wouldn't, and then I would really be alone, hm?" He planted an emphasized, noisy kiss on the other paladin's head, then pushed him away, pointing at the sky as a great shadow passed over them.

"That's your zep, idn'it, Nate? Where'd that rabbit get to? You better go find her. You're probably the best thing that ever happened to her. Kind of sad, you're sort of a jerk... hah! I have to get Phasilica back to Silvermoon before the ghost of some hulking paladin carries her off... but you're going to love Orgrimmar. Very dry and dusty, very manly... well, okay, _I _love Orgrimmar. You can tell me what you think about it in a letter, how's that? I'm curious! Hurry, hurry!"

Dawnn gave Negate a nudge. "I can keep an eye on him... he'll be okay."

"I'm fine!"

Negate eyed Vaschel suspiciously, then sadly, and nodded. "Please write me if he gets any worse."

On the other side of the tower, facing Brill, Negatory was picking apart a peacebloom. "I didn't realize you guys knew him too."

"Not really, just met him," Lisys wiggled her toes in the grass.

"He had... a thing... with my youngest son," Phasilica rubbed her arm with a sigh. "He was awfully spoiled, but sweet under all that. He used to call me mom because he thought it was ridiculous that my sons didn't."

The tiny elf released the empty stem to the wind. "I'm sorry, Phasilica."

"Mm, well... he wasn't _my _nephew. Feel sorry for Vaschel."

"I do," Negatory picked another. "Why are bad things always happening to nice people?"

Lisys sat beside her, tearing the peddles that Negatory ripped from the flower into even smaller pieces. "You think he'll be okay? He seems... different."

"Like he's lost his mind?" the priestess reached down, seizing the girls' arms and tugging them back up. "He will be like that for a while... but he will pull through. He can stay with me. Come on, up up. Lisys and Negate have to go."

Lisys stared at her feet. "I feel like we shouldn't."

"Don't," Negatory wrapped her in a tight hug. "Vaschel has a lot of people to take care of him already. Too many maybe! And my brother is soooo smothering. He would just make it worse."

"I put my search for my bitch—" Negatory gasped, "mother on hold for now," Phasilica straightened Lisys's hair with her fingers, like a parent sending her child to school. "No need for both of us to put our goals on hold. Tell me about Orgrimmar."

Lisys nodded, then turned as Negate called her name, rounding the tower.

"Hurry, hurry, we have to go." He grabbed her wrist, pulling her into the tower, calling over his shoulder, "Don't be too mean to him, _please_!"

Phasilica took Negatory's arm and pulled her through the tower to the other side, scowling as the spritely girl turned her innocent face up and said, "He's definitely talking to you."

Lisys scurried along with Negate, holding his robes in one hand and his companion in the other, around the winding steps and met with the platform just in time for the zeppelin to pull out of jumping-range. The warlock sat down with a snarl to wait, and Lisys followed suit.

After what felt like hours, they decided it would be safe to wander down and pick up some water from Brill, only to miss the Orgrimmar zeplin again. It was well into the afternoon before they were on their way, an entire day wasted waiting for a flying boat that made for an amusing story once they'd finally caught it.

The trip across the sea was nothing like Lisys had ever experienced, and it helped her to forget the gloom she'd left behind. She spent most of the trip peeking cautiously over the edge, awed by the enormity of the world below her. She kicked herself for spending her whole life in one little town, and even forgot Negate until he started to complain just shy of an hour from land.

"Sunwell, it's hot," he hissed, brushing flyaway hairs from his face. "This is... this is just _unholy. _I don't think even hell is this hot."

Lisys left the edge for the first time the entire trip, and returned to sit with Negate in the middle of the deck. "I understand that this whole coast is very warm, except in the mountains."

"Well, it's awful. Barbaric. The whole of Quel'Thalas is temperate year-round. The orcs now have the most powerful elf magi on their side. It's ridiculous that they would _choose _to live like this."

"You're being too dramatic," Lisys smiled shyly. She didn't mean for him to change it—she was just stating a fact. She liked that about him.

"This isn't bothering you at all?" Negate asked, but answered his own question before she could. "Ah, that's right. You're like ice, always."

"I... I _wish _I could be warm again," Lisys sighed longingly, staring at her feet. She didn't like being human and would never wish to be again, but there were _parts_ of it she missed, usually the things she'd always taken for granted.

Negate quirked an eyebrow, an idea hatching. "Oh? C'mere," he turned to grab her, but she threw herself back on her elbows, dodging.

"H- huh? Why?"

"Just come here! Why are you so frightened? It's not like I am going to hurt you."

The rogue raised a foot in the air, threatening to kick. "I... I don't trust that look on y- your face at all! Y- you're going to do something mean!"

"Is that what you think? Not at all!" Negate laughed, seizing her ankle and pulling her across the boards.

She squealed and scrambled away again as soon as he released her, prompting him to literally pounce on her. Lisys screamed, attracting the attention of the whole crew. The deathguards high-fived as the elf and the undead rolled several times, tumbling over one another, until they hit the edge of the ship. Both gasped, certain they'd go right over, and then relaxed against the side. Negate wrapped his arms around Lisys's middle, rubbing his cheek into her exposed clevage.

"Oh yeah, this is exactly what I needed today..." he muttered, words distorted as half his face smooshed one way, then the other, as he moved his head.

"Y-... you're really ornery today!" she held perfectly still, quivering. "What's gotten into y- you, an- anyway?"

Negate sat upright, shaking more stray hairs from his face. "Ahh, relax. You know, especially now that you've covered your face, you could be sort of cute."

Lisys adjusted her kerchief self-consciously, turning away. "That's not w- what you always used to s- say."

"Don't put so much stock in what I say. I can be kind of a jerk." He tossed an arm around her boney shoulders, pressing their cheeks together, startling her again.

"Wh- why do you keep doing that?" she fidgeted in his arms, on the fence between scrambling away and squirming closer.

"Because," Negate sighed, exasperated, as if it should have been obvious. "It's _hot _and you feel sogood."

Lisys stared at her feet, toes wriggling faster with nerves, still torn. Finally, the latter won and she scooted closer, until their sides pressed together. "Y... you...too," she whispered.

"See? I wasn't going to _do something mean_. If you can't trust me, who can you trust? You'd probably stop having those nightmares all the damn time if you relaxed more."

"Oh, oh, I w- want to! I really d- do... but it's hard..." she wrapped her fingers in his sleeve, holding onto it tightly.

"Why?" Negate asked, tone tinged with more compassion than Lisys believed he was even capable of. She tensed, ready to run away again. "Is it because I teased you so much? I swear on King Dath'Ramar's grave I won't ever bring it up again."

"No, not at all. I... I don't know how to explain it to someone like you... to your people, it seems like looks are everything."

The warlock considered this ugly fact realistically and nodded. "That's more or less true."

"It's not that humans aren't vain... But I... I've been hor- horribly disfigured nearly my whole life. When you say I'm ugly, it's the same to me as if I told you that you had dark hair or green eyes. It's... neutral. What makes me sad is when... you act like my worth is hinged on it... like... like I don't have anything else."

Negate put a hand on her head, rubbing her coarse, rough hair. It was the sort of wretched that a stylist would suggest shaving and starting over, except that she could never regrow nice hair after years of malnutrition and finally death followed by cheap necromancy—the type used for cannon fodder, the foot soldiers of the Scourge who were never meant to hold together long. The lower-half of her face was essentially mangled or missing, every joint was missing skin. He tried to imagine the sort of life she could have lead that would have meant that her living body was disfigured enough to mention compared to her state now, but gave up. He didn't want to know.

"I certainly do _not _believe you are worthless. If that's what you think, then I have not reflected well on my upbringing and I am very, very sorry."

Lisys stole a peek at his face before snapping her gaze back to the wooden floor. She still doubted his sincerity. "You... you're just acting like this..." she struggled a moment, certain there was something, "... because... because you feel badly about your friend."

"Not at all. Completely forgot about him after that roll we took, didn't you?" he teased, pinching her cheek.

Lisys swatted his hand away with a light squeak and nodded her head, a wide smile on her face. Even Oliver rejected her eventually, and she couldn't blame him. She would never believe that this relationship would last forever, but she thought she was within her rights to enjoy it while it lasted... hopefully at least as long as her time with Oliver.

"Yes... I... I don't get... cuddled... often."

"Well get used to it, or I might die out here," he exhaled heavily, peeking over the side, noticing that the giant wooden piece of goblin ingenuity was finally hovering over land again—a scorched, orange, rocky-textured land the likes of which he'd never imagined. "I'm already tired and we haven't even come to the tower yet."

"We sh- should explore and rest, don't you- you think?" Lisys swallowed, still somehow unaccustomed to the roller-coaster of emotion that was her life with her new friends... and even old friends, rediscovered. "It's already late anyway..."

"Oh, I suppose. I wanted to be in Stonetalon by tonight, but after missing the damn boat _twice_..." He stood, straightening his robes and his hair before reaching down to help Lisys stand. He watched her face always watching the ground and thought for a moment.

"Lisys... to be frank... you're not really that ugly anymore. I can't put my finger on it... Well, when I was ten, my father remarried to a woman named Chord who is indisputably," he stopped and rolled his eyes, as if it hurt him to say, but it was the only phrase that fit, "_cute as a button_... until she opened her mouth.

"Old money often comes with a sort of sickness that is hard to really understand unless you've seen it. I was lucky, my father made his own fortune and I didn't inherit any of it. I was never destitute but I'm not completely naive either... but Chord! Chord was the youngest and only daughter to a man who held a fortune five or six generations old already, which may sound like short lineage to you, but trust me, for an elf that's ancient. And she was tiny and sickly her whole life. You can probably put that together, can't you? I don't think she could breathe around the silver spoon wedged between her teeth... and that's not really her fault, but it didn't make her any less unbearable."

The rogue listened to the story in awe, holding onto Negate's wrists still. She tried to picture Silvermoon before its fall; courtly ladies and gentlemen with hundreds of years to sit prettily in silken luxury, and then a ten-year-old Negate, who looked the same except with a shorter ponytail, with his chin in his hands, bored listening to a brainless-but-beautiful blonde hardly taller than he was. She giggled, as amused as she was delighted with images of the rich and famous.

Negate paused to remember his train of thought, trying to clear his saliva with his tongue audibly, as if this topic had left a bad taste in his mouth. "Anyway, the more she talked, the uglier and uglier she became. I don't even have the words to tell you how looking at her makes me feel... she might as well leave a trail of slime everywhere she goes. I can't even imagine how anyone, much less someone I am related to, would touch her with a ten foot pole... Do you understand?"

Lisys nodded, having forgotten that this story was supposed to relate to her or else she might have been offended until he continued.

"You're the opposite of that. Honestly, when I first saw you, you made me feel a bit ill... sorry, but it's true! I really thought I might wake up some night fighting you away as you tried to eat me or... I don't know. You just looked evil. But not anymore. I don't think of you as Lisys the ugly monster anymore, again, sorry... just as Lisys the... easily-lost and always-scared. You're no princess but you're... not really ugly anymore, either. Not at all."

The warlock reached for the cloth mask obscuring her face to move it aside, starting to understand, after considering his own story, what Lisys meant when she said that looks were just a neutral fact. Staring at anyone with any deformity could be unsettling at first, just as staring at any pretty face could be comforting at first. But those were minor details that faded over years, or even weeks, if you spent enough time with someone. Phasilica told him once that the rims of her glasses bothered her when she was a child, but she since stopped seeing them. This was the same. Other traits, completely independent of appearance, shaped lasting perceptions. He hadn't seen her toothy mouth for a long time, and yet he knew he wouldn't jump. He wouldn't even focus on it; it was just one piece of a whole now.

But she caught his hand before he could push it above her chin, eyes glued to her toes again. "... don't..."

Negate withdrew respectfully, feeling a pang of wretchedness he hadn't felt before in his entire life, a hundred times as intense as the night before, even while he could hear Vaschel sobbing by himself at the bar after the rest of the inn had retired. He highhandedly instilled a shame in her that she didn't have before. She lied, probably without meaning to, about the neutrality of her looks. It was a simple fact before, same as the color of his hair or eyes, but not any more, clearly. Or at least, she couldn't stand to let him look at her again.

She took a fleeting glimpse of his face, playing with her hands nervously. "I'm sorry, I didn't... I didn't want to hurt your feelings... we... maybe later, when there aren't all the- these people around."

Negate rebounded quickly; he did this, and he could undo it. Like all things, it took time, and they both had lots of it. The gates of Orgrimmar caught the corner of his eye by chance. He was distracted once more by the pit in his heart, but did a double-take as he realized that Orgrimmar was slowly moving _away._

"Ah, shit!" He hissed, snatching Lisys's wrist and rushing toward the platform, lest they have to ride the stupid flying boat all the way to Brill and then back to Orgrimmar _again._

Lisys was slowed by a fit of giggles as she realized that they were so wrapped up in their intense conversations they had completely stopped paying attention to their destination. They narrowly missed the platform, and Negate stopped, kicking the small lip around the deck.

"Shit! Shit! Aaaugh, _Sunwell,_ damnit!"

The rogue pulled her wrist from his hand and snatched his wrist instead, rushing for the other side of the zepplin. "We have to jump before we're over the water!"

"Are you _insane?_"

"Don't be such a baby!" She squealed, delighted to be the brave one, for once, and by all the sweet things he said that she could no longer doubt. If Negate was buttering her up only because he felt bad for his treatment of Vaschel, he would have left out the unfortunate truth that in the beginning, looking at her made him sick. Somehow, the bitter first half of his confession made the conversation as sweet as saccharine on the whole.

Without a care in the world she launched herself, and Negate, off the side of the zepplin and into the sandy, unforgiving rocks below.

/ SET LOCATION: STONETALON MOUTAINS

Adel rolled restlessly in her sleep, the stars refusing their usual contentment. In the past, the ranger was more comfortable resting outside than inside, but lately she couldn't be at ease anywhere. The loss of her whole family on one day, especially her brothers, and her much-adored fiance was worse than dying herself.

She thought that finding and raising her long-lost-niece would soothe her spirit, but she found that it was as hard to love her niece as it had been to love her sisters. She was admittedly often cruel to them... especially Rachel, for reasons she lacked the self-insight to understand.

The possibility that her brothers were alive was such a pleasure that she was reluctant to believe that she could be so lucky, and so it offered no comfort. Old nightmares returned, dreams she hadn't endured for years.

This one always started the same. She was in the forests of Lordaeron, a dirt poor child with holes in her stockings. To the south was a make-shift shaft where she was born and returned to live with her father after he'd been exiled from Quel'Thalas. In truth, he'd always been an exile; but as long as he kept the robbery and violence to lowly prostitutes, no one much cared. Then he got cocky one day and couldn't resist a rich girl, botched the murder after the fact, and she happened to run into, and captivate, the one man in the city with more power than her own disgustingly-rich family.

Later, only a few short years after Rachel first learned of Adel's existence and brought her home, he would slaughter Angelina Crysis and then Abby Xanthic, at Jaqlyn's command, undoing himself. The fallen paladin named Sihner, freed from his moral code and with nothing to lose, would disembowel Ariel and his wife and bury them in unmarked graves shortly before his own execution.

Sometimes, especially in her dreams, Adel truly believed that all claims of Ariel's death were utter horseshit. He wasn't mortal to her, but some sort of all-powerful demon, or God, and as a ten-year-old with scuffed knees and no friends, she often wandered far away from home and stayed away until she was too hungry to go on, always dreading her return.

In this dream, she was always compelled north, further and further, away from her secluded _home_, even though she knew what waited for her ahead. She wanted to stop and wait at the half-way between the horrors behind and ahead until she woke, but she had no power over her own legs.

She was finally allowed to stop at a low creek where a redheaded woman was kneeling, washing her face. Adel recognized her immediately as Saiynt, even though this woman looked nothing like the current, or any, incarnation of the Saiynt she knew. She was short and curvacious, but it wasn't obvious beneath conservative armor. She had striking green eyes that were a bit hard, but not cruel. The nervous, twitching insanity that came to define her friend was gone, and when she noticed Adel, she spoke in a low, confident alto instead of a high-pitched inflection that could turn into a rasp if she over-reached for an even higher note.

"Who are you? Are you lost?" she asked. This was the Saiynt Cisneros that Adel imagined would have been someday had they never met.

She stared at the ground, knowing what was coming, but powerless to run away. She said nothing.

Then, Saiynt recognized her, too, and Adel winced, tears already leaking through her lashes as she clenched her eyes shut.

"Holy light, it's you! _You," _she crossed the stream hastily, hatred seizing every pitch in her voice, every stiff movement, every fiber of her being. This was more like the Saiynt that the real world knew.

"I'm, I'm, I'm," Adel stuttered, unable to work her voice around the hiccups that came from a sudden, intense sobbing.

"You're _what? _You're _sorry?_"

"It- it- it w- w- was all so- so no- normal to m- me! I'd seen him d- do it a th- thousand times I di- didn't even kno- know it was wro- wrong!"

"Liar! Filthy, rotten, wretched _liar!" _Saiynt seized her by the throat. "You were old enough! You knew the difference between right and wrong. You had become _complacent_, you were content to let him ruin a thousand lives if it meant you could pretend not to see it! You saw what that monster did to me and you said nothing!"

"I was _scared_!" Adel tried to scream, but could barely drown out the birds through her cries.

"So how do you think _I _felt!?" she took a dagger out of her boot and drew it back in one fluid motion, presumably plunging it deep into the child's stomach. Adel always woke up before she felt the blade.

She sat up against an old tree, centuries old at least, and debated starting another fire. She certainly couldn't sleep again; _Saiynt's_ voice was still booming in her ears. She would have to wait nervously all night for her contact, too scared to hope.

She reached for her backpack and withdrew a small bottle of whiskey—she'd never been a big fan of alcohol but kept it simply because it reminded her of Vaschel—and turned it over in her fingers.

"If you're alive," her chest heaved, somehow feeling more alone now that she'd admitted it was a possibility, "I can't wait to be with my family and never have that dream again, only..." she returned it to her pack, realizing that a home-coming wouldn't be easy. She knew he'd be ecstatic to see her, sure, but a lot can change in a war-ravaged country in five years. He'd already buried her... and might think she was a traitor for staying with the Alliance. At best, it'd be awkward at first... at worst, they could never be the same again.

She retrieved her dagger and clutched the blade until her hand bled, a stunt she used to pull admittedly only for the attention. She tilted her head back and stared at the sky, closing her eyes as a rush of warmth followed the pain. "Saiynt... wherever you are... I'm not really sorry anymore... and I can't forgive you for lying to me."


	40. Chapter 37

/SET LOCATION; LORDAERON, 20 YEARS AGO

When the third Warden Andy died and word spread that his very-young son had all intentions of taking over, Sihner assumed he would not like the sort of idealistic young boy who thought he could take over a massive prison at 15.

Unexpectedly, Jacob Andy turned out to be a practical young man who treated the older guards much like a council of regency until his early 20s, when he'd learned and grown enough to command with authority. His natural disposition was one that bent instead of breaking, even under the extreme pressure that the combination of his home and work lives was capable of exerting.

Still, lengthy shifts in an underground prison and the usual coping methods—mainly cigars and liquor—took a toll on his health. When a prison riot erupted, he could disperse it with titanic strength. Normal conversations or brief strolls, however, were usually interrupted by an awful hacking cough and his skin was so pallid underneath a thick black mustache and varying degrees of stubble everywhere else that no one thought Jacob would outlive his father.

Perpetually sick, he'd already stopped once to vomit in the grass before wiping his mouth and continuing on. This wasn't unusual or surprising—this was just part of going anywhere with Jacob Andy.

"You're kidding, right? You're something like fifty years outside of drafting range, yeah? Seriously, man, don't go," he stopped to take a swig from a brown bottle, purely to remove the taste from his mouth, that he spit out to the side.

"Fifteen," Sihner lifted an eyebrow.

"Whatever. You're way too old is the point. Light, I just said this to my father-in-law last night. He didn't listen to me either. Well, it's good news, I guess. Leland wanted to go."

"Why not let him go?"

"I _might _honestly consider it, but Phasilica would lose her fucking mind. Anyway, we're already at 18 hour shifts. Prisons still have to run during conflicts. He can't go now. We can't spare more guards, and it's only going to get worse. Several trials and executions have been delayed—such as that redheaded trouble maker you're so interested in, light knows why. Maybe she'll still be here when you get back. And that building my wife was working on was torn up for lumber. I don't know what the fuss is any-fucking-way. Khaz Modan was ballsy but the orcs won't march on Lordaeron."

"Stormwind is the next likely target."

"Horseshit," he paused, covering his mouth with a handkerchief as he coughed up something unpleasant.

"You'll see."

Jacob cleared his throat. "You leave tomorrow?"

Sihner stopped and nodded, and Jacob sent him off with a wave. Usually their paths converged much later, but on this particular day Jacob left his youngest in the care of a different nanny. She was really a retired midwife, but also all he could find on such short notice as many parents left abruptly to participate in the conflict.

The old woman lived a bit out-of-his-way, beyond the walls of Lordaeron and on the other side of the giant lake, opposite of Brill. The sun set quickly on his journey, and in the darkness he strained a bit to confirm what he thought he was seeing. Instead of old Miss Wilkeshire, Jaqlyn was holding Mason's hand.

The young boy peered into a small hole, barely large enough for an adult to crawl though, that apparently twisted deep underneath the lake. Normally so trusting, he hesitated. "...I... I don't know, gramma Jaqlyn..." He pulled backwards and tried to free his wrist from her hand, but she yanked him violently forward again.

"Don't be scared. I have a candle to give you so it won't be so dark. You want your toy sword back, don't you? I can't crawl in there for you. I thought you wanted to be a brave paladin?"

Jacob dropped the bottle in his hand, the grass muffling the crash and shatter, but not so much that it escaped Jaqlyn's ears. She turned with a sweet smile as her son-in-law sprinted toward them. Mason yanked his hand free finally, and she let him go.

"Dad!" he almost squeaked, hurrying to meet him half way.

Jacob slowed and bent, lifting the boy onto his hip effortlessly as his terrified son nearly jumped the distance himself. "Hey, buddy," he cleared his throat. "What, ah... what happened to Miss Wilkeshire?"

Mason hesitated. "... she said I can call her Emily..." he mumbled finally, then quickly hid his face as Jaqlyn approached.

"Miss Wilkeshire," Jaqlyn glanced briefly toward the near-by cottage, then back to Jacob with the same tight smile, "received some bad news about relatives in Stormwind and had to leave suddenly. I was nearest-by, so..."

"Where's my wife?" Jacob insisted, rubbing the back of his son's head comfortingly.

The witch feigned surprise. "You don't even know where your wife is? Oh, my..."

"Look, lady, I think we've been over this before," the warden leaned forward, a deep scowl on his face. "I. Don't. Trust. You. Phasilica doesn't want you around either, so stay out of our lives like you promised."

"I'm sorry you feel that way," Jaqlyn turned to leave, never losing her poise.

"Yeah, yeah, go fuck off as hard as you can," Jacob waved her on before turning himself, back toward home.

Over his shoulder, Mason reached out toward the burrow, remembering his sword, then thought better of it and retreated back behind the safety of his father's body.

/Set Location: The Acherus

Tearle continued her quest to learn anything and everything about the Acherus and its inhabitants. If she stopped collecting information for even a second, her mind wandered, sprinted even, to the uncertainty of her fate. Panic would work against her, that was truer here than anywhere else. She was fortunate in that there wasplenty to keep her busy.

Angelina was an interesting woman who Tearle would have found more interesting as a child, before her family was murdered and she gave up on gilded dreams of the rich and famous. Angelina was very easily and completely described in one word: socialite. A person could bear their soul to her after a brief introduction and feel better for it instead of exposed—unless, of course, Angelina wanted them to feel that way.

Tearle was a bit wary of her initially; the last thing she wanted was a necromancer picking apart her brain or trying to toss her in a pit of drama. But Angelina showed no interest in dissecting the human priestess, and as far as Tearle could tell, she was always sincere with her. Eventually, Tearle relaxed and was no more cautious around her than she was anyone else, although occasionally she worried that might be all apart of her plan.

What surprised Tearle the most about the Acherus as a whole was that there was even a use for such talents in a necropolis. She never took time to really think about it, but if she had, she would have imagined that the Acherus was a place where the Scourge either slept all day or wrung their hands menacingly until called upon for some dastardly deed, at which point they would pour out in a massive black army of _scary._

This could not be further from the truth. There were family members and lovers within the Acherus, or split up by it. The undead fought and had sex. Some drank and smoked, although "it's just not the same" was a common complaint. There were even pseudo-social classes; in Stormwind, paladins usually walked the streets in full plate, even off-duty, to differentiate themselves as paladins, and the same was true of death knights. It was a big faux pas to be mistaken for a necromancer, and Tearle even witnessed a fight break out over it.

Angelina made it her business to know about everything—the class differences, who knew who and who was fighting with who, and wielded this knowledge like a weapon with astonishing success. Tearle found it petty, at first, but came to be impressed after witnessing the potency of such an art over and over, even in a place like the Acherus. If Angelina was frivolous, she was also clever, and not wholly unkind. The human surmised that Angelina had died very young, although she did not look it, and she could not always be blamed for her instigative nature.

Furthermore, Angelina always seemed to know what was going on and was eager to explain it to Tearle, which made this confusing, backwards world less unnerving. Memory experiments were rampant, especially among the death knights, and Angelina prided herself on knowingwhat the subjects of her gossip did not.

"He doesn't remember it, but they used to be married. She probably seems familiar, that's why he looks so hesitant," Angelina explained during an incident a while back, where a dark soldier dragged a Scarlet warrior through the doorway to the geist pit. Once Tearle understood everything in terms of latent natural emotions, even the Acherus seemed a little familiar; it was sad, but not so frighteningly foreign.

Angelina herself was the twin sister of Phasilica, the cold woman Tearle met once already, and the two still looked frighteningly similar in spite of dying nearly thirty years apart. Stranger still, Angelina defied the often-true stereotype of twins striving for their own identities; she even responded without pause to her sister's name if mistaken for her. In fact, according to Abby, Phasilica nearly took over Angelina's life when she died, marrying her sister's fiance and raising her son, but that was a story—the only story—that Tearle could never get out of Angelina herself.

The man who'd brought her to this place originally was Sihner Xanthic, who Angelina explained was from a fanatically religious family that gave all of their children 'humbling' names. He was a friend of Angelina's father for three decades and she had infinite stories to tell about him, however she was not particularly fond of him, and she tinted most tales with bias.

He was educated, but did not speak Thalassian in any capacity which was a rarity among educated humans in Lordaeron. He was never a noble like Angelina, but he had never experienced the peasant life either, a common placement for an otherwise unremarkable family with a long history of service to the crown in wartime. He was well-off and old enough that everyone except Jaqlyn referred to him formally as Mr. Xanthic, even his apparent girlfriend, although she commonly shortened it to simply 'Mister.'

As far as she knew, his interests boiled down to two subjects: women and all-things-fighting: dueling, 'tanking', complex military operations, and so on. The former he didn't speak of openly and Tearle wouldn't want to hear about it anyway, but it took little prompting to get him started on the latter. On the rare occasion that she was left alone with him, she could avoid awkward—and sometimes scary—silence with a simple quip, sometimes completely fictional, about how she could never get tactic 'x' to work with a healer or shieldman of type 'y'.

Sometimes it took him a moment, but he had the solution for nearly every situation with every class of every personality, although sometimes said solution involved bringing plenty of priests for resurrection purposes. Battle plans were not Tearle's forte and she normally would not find them particularly interesting; however, any subject could be mildly amusing when learned from a master with decades of experience. If Tearle ever happened to pass him in the halls with his daughter, they were usually discussing the most minute details of strategies or positioning or class weakness—sometimes disagreeing, but never really arguing. This was something, perhaps the only thing, he enjoyed discussing at great length.

Otherwise, he mostly kept to himself. If he had to speak, he would cut subjects or verbs if the sentiment could be understood without specifying. He stretched the bounds of etiquette for an educated man, so much that Tearle originally assumed he was from Stormwind, which had been regarded as more friendly and relaxed than Lordaeron in the past.

This habit of conveying only the simplest thoughts in the simplest terms made him seem mysterious at first, but later Tearle concluded that he was, in fact, just simple. She never had to guess at his motivations—which usually related to one of his only two interests—and he wasn't particularly intelligent; he never complained or acted dramatically, and he refused to participate in Angelina's mind games. He would not have been particularly memorable except for two things—his voice and a colorful family history.

According to Angelina, Sihner was the oldest son of notoriously ruthless warlord and his first wife, another successful warrior from a peasant family. When Sihner was very young, he'd somehow broken an antique spear, a war-trophy of sorts belonging to his mother. She allegedly cut his throat with it. The boy survived, obviously, but spent nearly five years completely mute, and went uneducated because of it, leaving him with no way to communicate. His mother died in prison before he could tell anyone that the injury was an accidental self-infliction, and she was innocent.

This development drove his father crazy—or crazier, depending on who a person asked—and the late Warlord Xanthic's next three wives disappeared.

"What's really mysterious is that there was no struggle," Angelina explained one evening while dolling Tearle up to look like a cultist, not because Tearle wanted to look like a cultist, but because it would help her to blend in.

"Mal Xanthic was already pretty old when Sihner was born, and Sihner had to be in his 20s when the warlord married for the last time, since Abby was old enough to remember the wedding. Around the same time, like within weeks, my Aunt Maria married into the Xanthics—awful decision if you ask me—and engaged in a heated argument with her father-in-law about how to name her children. She literally threw Mal out of her house."

"What does that have to do with anything?" Tearle asked, recoiling as Angelina pulled the human's wet hair in an effort to straighten it.

"The Xanthics were all about making soldiers, and they only ever married other warriors, or rarely a paladin, with brilliant service histories—and Mal's last wife had to be at least thirty years younger than he was. She was easily as strong as Maria, anyway. The late warlord could have murdered his second, and maybe his third wife himself, but not the forth. It's completely impossible."

"He could have hired someone," Tearle suggested, pushing Angelina away at the shoulders. "Sorry. If I have to be the first cultist without pin-straight hair, so be it."

"Suit yourself, but the other necromancers will tease you," Angelina retrieved a soft poof and began to cake the human's face with an unusual white powder. "I think Jaqlyn was involved somehow."

That was a phrase Tearle had heard a hundred times already: _I think Jaqlyn was involved. _The priestess meant to ask her about it then, but instead she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror and nearly dissolved into tears. She barely recognized herself, even with her disguise only half-completed, and her dark appearance was so unsettling that she forgot temporarily that she had consented to this experiment. The feeling faded as soon as she turned away, logic took over again, and their conversation returned to something mundane.

The other half of Sihner's unusual family history was Abby, who Tearle could not form a solid opinion of, but still enjoyed conversing with very much. She struck Tearle as a very self-centered, greedy person, which the human did not much like, but with an occasional streak of humanity that the priestess approved of. Abby was good friends with Angelina, who Tearle shared quarters with, and would pop in frequently.

Except that Abby almost never smiled—even if one tricked her into laughing—she looked nothing like her father. In fact, Tearle doubted she was even human, or all-human, from the very start. Abby was easily as tall as her father was, incredibly unusual for a human female, had two too many eyeteeth, and a very subtle point at the tops of her ears. Tearle did not even realize they were related until Abby mentioned "my dad" in a casual conversation, and his identity was obvious within the context. After that, Tearle noticed them together often, either discussing the past or, more likely, the most precise details of all-things-fighting, and it seemed perfectly obvious. They certainly behaved similarly.

Corroborating Tearle's suspicions that Abby was not completely human, the priestess learned, again through the knight's conversations with Angelina, that Abby ran away from home very young to join a small tribe of orcs hiding in the Alterac Mountains. She said that she wasn't popular, but her knowledge of human language, tactics, and general mentality made her extremely useful to them, and that her mother had once served the same function. This lead Tearle to believe that Abby's mother was likely a half-orc, although she never specified.

This unique past also made her very interesting to Tearle, and allowed her to tolerate an attitude that she would otherwise find despicable at times. Tearle had studied orcs and even knew their language, but an orcish source was always biased in favor of orcs and a human source was always biased in favor of humans. Tearle herself suffered a strong bias that she was well-aware of. But Abby sat firmly on the fence, jaded by humanity at a young age and booted from two different orcish tribes for dishonorable conduct. At best, she wasn't loyal to either camp, but only to herself.

Furthermore, she knew the little tidbits that a person couldn't learn in a book or that someone else might assume Tearle wasn't interested in; she regularly spouted little cultural quips like _Anyorc who tells you that the Frostwolves are noble either is one or shacked-up with one; they all know it takes the Warsong clan to get fucking anything done... Hair is every-fucking-thing. You think the clothie bitches downstairs are cruel because your hair is a little wavy? Hah! Go to war with some orcish shieldwomen with the wrong side of your head shaved. _

Tearle adored these little knowledge scraps, seemingly meaningless pieces of information that she couldn't learn anywhere else, and even begun to write them down. They would only ever be of interest to someone as deeply concerned with varying world cultures as her, so, they would only ever be useful to her. Nonetheless, she did not want to forget anything, and she often had nothing else to do.

Eventually, Angelina would incidentally reveal a little morsel of human interest, but that only manifests itself in Lordaeron, and Tearle thought she might as well write it down, too. Before she knew it, she was also scribbling down things that Mr. Xanthic said. Her first night writing in this quasi-journal, she had ten pages of everything-soup in shorthand.

_hair is everything to fem. orcs (mem. ask is it ritual?) _

_orcs u/t drown infants if deform or weak, outlawed by f.w. Tribe_

_elf-human marriage common in lordaeron, halfies better tolerated_

_human shieldmen are usl. large but size unimportant, is "center-of-gravity" thing; women have lower c-o-g; most human shieldmen male, most orcs have shieldwomen_

And finally, notes about the people themselves began to creep in because the collective culture of undeath was fascinating itself, and completely different for the Scourge versus the Forsaken. These people were an ecclesiastic mix of complicated convulutedness that left an observant girl like Tearle with plenty to observe.

Tearle met Saiynt last, after she already had pages and pages of notes from and about everyone else. The same night the priestess wouldn't sleep at all, compelled by a quirky need for "evenness" in her notes to jot down at least as much about Saiynt as she had about Jaqlyn, but her task was complicated by the inability to pin Saiynt's appearance, history, or personality down with any word other than "unstable." Saiynt Cisneros wasn't the type of woman someone could describe to someone else—she was the type about which a polite person whispered, "I need to warn you about, well, you'll see," to a soon-to-be-mutual acquaintance, and said acquaintance's most fanciful imaginings were never disappointed.

Like Abby, Tearle had trouble forming a solid opinion on Saiynt in many areas, except that the priestess had high respect for her gall from the beginning.

The human was standing in what she assumed was Mr. Xanthic's quarters with Angelina. The death knight barracks were all the same—a ten-by-ten, if that, room of nothing save for a short raised platform of stone against the left and right walls, which Tearle assumed were supposed to be used as beds by the way Sihner was lounging on one when they came in, although it was far too short for even herself; Sihner's legs hung off the edge at the knees.

Angelina knocked but did not ask permission, which was just her way—the necromancer did what she wanted whenever and to whomever she wanted—although she apparently wasn't expecting the death knight to be in.

"Jaqlyn still hasn't sent you after Lisys?" she asked, taken aback.

Mr. Xanthic sat up as soon as she opened the door, but slid back and leaned against the wall after verifying his visitor. "What are you doing here? … Who is that?"

"Hah! You didn't even recognize her. This is the same girl you dragged here from Tirisfal Glades, remember? I did her makeup to be less conspicuous. Isn't she cute?" Angelina turned to Tearle, who was mindlessly examining the plain stone walls. She set a hand on the priestess's arm and said, "Believe it or not, at the height of the Scourge's power the death knights were four-to-one in these rooms," as if she could read Tearle's mind. In fact, sometimes, whenever she felt paranoid, Tearle wondered if she really could.

The necromancer turned back to Sihner, who'd put his arms behind his head as far as Tearle could tell. Once the heavy door shut behind them, the only light was what could escape the hall underneath it and two sets of undead eyes. "She didn't send Abby, did she?"

"No. There was a confrontation this morning; she's been moving bodies all day."

Angelina reached out to take Tearle's arm, a habit she established after Tearle tripped once and nearly took a nasty spill down a set of spiral stairs in another low-light situation. There wasn't much room for error here, but the priestess was accident-prone and Angelina resolved not to take chances in any area likely too dark for human eyes. "... _all _day?"

"Yes. Was a massive confrontation."

Tearle came to learn that _moving bodies_ in this place meant sorting through the corpses of fallen soldiers for those memorable faces that could make worthy death knights, then dragging them to the necromancers. This was low-level work for a team of supervised ghouls usually; if command was short enough that they required help from sentient death knights like Abby, the conflict was certainly massive. This step-up in recruitmentwas troubling.

"Well... we have bigger problems," Angelina tapped her foot nervously. "Besides being very bad for Lisys, rebuilding Nadia would be..."

Sihner didn't respond, which troubled Angelina greatly. She squeezed Tearle's arm until the priestess pulled away, and she could hear the necromancer's heavy breath for a hot minute. She regained herself with a swallow.

"I don't know what to do except take this to Phasilica," she said finally. "But I don't like that option."

At that moment, the door exploded open and Tearle caught herself gawking at the sudden influx of light and an acid-blue-haired stranger in the entryway. Her mostly-exposed breasts rose and fell with effort and her eyes narrowed.

"You son-of-a-bitch, how could you?!" she howled in a high-pitched voice that Tearle almost suspected she was faking. "Just because you was mad at me? You're dead, motherfucker!"

"No, Saiynt, it wasn't—!" Angelina scurried to intervene but was shoved violently aside with a scream as the petite woman lunged right at Sihner. She had unworldly strength for her size, cracking a hole in his chest plate with a definitive crunch before he'd even drawn his hands out from behind his head.

He sat up, still apparently taken off-guard, but she shoved his shoulders back against the wall and straddled him, reaching wildly for the sword on her back as the door closed and darkness choked out Tearle's view again. The human flattened herself against the nearest wall, possibly as terrified as her first day in the Acherus. She heard a slice and Mr. Xanthic shout, muddling Angelina's pleas for Saiynt to calm down while Tearle begged her eyes to adjust. She could nearly make out dim shapes again when Angelina jumped on her with another scream, both girls narrowly missing a hard impact with Saiynt's plated body as Sihner shoved the smaller knight back, got his foot on her chest, and kicked her powerfully across the small room.

He stood immediately, but Saiynt's smaller stature allowed her to recover much more quickly and she darted forward again like a suicide-fighter, staggering him before he'd fully regained his feet.

The two dark-haired priestesses scrambled over each other and their own robes, crying out as they tripped and fell and struggled for at least two full revolutions around the room, narrowly avoiding the very real possibility of being cut or crushed to death many times.

"Saiynt, stop!" Angelina begged continuously, sometimes hardly whispering as she panted and scrambled, pulling poor Tearle, who could barely see, up off the stone floor just in time over and over again.

Finally, Mr. Xanthic pinned her successfully on the floor with his foot between her shoulder blades. She was flexible enough to grab his ankle, but could not muster enough strength to throw him off, her legs were too short to reach his other foot on the ground without turning, and her armor was not smooth enough to allow her to move at all beneath his foot. The pressure required to hold her this way was immense, and as soon as Angelina realized it was safe to approach she hustled over to explain on all fours.

"Jaqlyn was going to disassemble you instead, it wasn't out of spite, he was just stalling, we're trying to come up with something else right now," the necromancer spat breathily at a million miles a minute.

Saiynt stopped struggling, and Sihner removed his foot. Tearle thought she heard every bone pop, something that would have made her sick once upon a time.

"I was never mad at you." Sihner added tonelessly, bending to help Saiynt stand.

"You was too!" she spat, coughing up a dark liquid. "You walked away awl like," she lowered and flattened her voice, making a very convincing impression, "_You should have told me about Abby."_

"I was annoyed... for ten minutes, if that. You disappeared for three weeks."

"Well, stop bein' so hard to read alla-mother-fucking-time! Always like _I don't care. I could take it or leave it. _I hope I broke your fucking nose! How ya feel about'at, huh? Anythin'? You're so damn... n... yeah, stupid too... prick... hell." Saiynt's speech, if one could call it that, descended further into mumbles, wrapping her arms around his waist, which was about all she could reach, and rubbing her small face against his armor, pausing to spit out a tooth.

These constant, bizarre ups-and-downs were all part of living in the Acherus, and Tearle had long since learned to quit puzzling over them and count her graces that she'd survived another _down. _

The door swung open again, prompting Tearle to scramble away from it and onto the "bed" to her right, where she huddled in the corner. She hoped that Angelina would take her back up to the much quieter necromancer quarter again very soon; she'd had about enough death knight already for one day.

Abby glanced around the room quickly at Tearle, balled up in a corner, and a very disheveled Angelina, then to Saiynt and her father. Scraps of clothing, strands of hair, and even cultist makeup was everywhere—on the floor, smeared on the stone walls, all over the four tousled individuals themselves.

Abby was not amused. "Dad... gross."

"That's not funny, Abby," Sihner frowned.

"I thought it was," Saiynt sat back on the opposite stone platform from Tearle. Her face was covered in dried blood. Tearle thought it was funny, too, in the light-headed, morbid I-almost-died sort of way.

"And she's back... _fantastic,"_ Abby hissed, turning to leave, but Angelina stopped her.

"Wait! Abby, come sit. We really need to talk about our next move." The necromancer sat beside Tearle and patted the place beside her. Sihner sat beside Saiynt, across from them.

Abby hesitated, but sat across from Saiynt with a scoff. "What the hell happened?"

"Mommy and daddy were fighting," Saiynt answered, high voice mock-sweet.

Abby started to get up, causing Tearle to squirm further into her corner, but Angelina put a hand on the death knight's shoulder.

"Abby! Please, no more fighting. Poor Tearle is shaking like a leaf."

"She's just doing that to piss me off!" Abby hissed, turning angrily back to Saiynt. "I'm _older than you, _you dumb tart!"

Sihner stood and scooted Saiynt to the other side, across from Tearle instead. The human priestess's curiosity relaxed her, and she studied the new death knight for a minute. This girl wasn't bright, or she was brave, or both; Sihner was a man Tearle would hesitate to slap if he pinched her butt and she had two bottles of liquid courage in her. This woman, a good several inches shorter than herself, _attacked _him in a tiny space where size dictated she had no chance, even with the element of surprise on her side. But she survived... only to taunt Abby. Tearle's mind reeled.

"Well, I own't wan' her tearing apart my girlfriend so, what're we gonna do?" Saiynt crossed her legs, resting her elbow on her knee and her face in her plate and chain glove.

"Your...? But I thought you were...?" Tearle asked without thinking, pointing between Saiynt and Mr. Xanthic.

"Don't even bother asking; you don't want to know." Angelina gently nudged Tearle's hand down. "As I was saying... All I can think of is to bring this to Phasilica."

"So what? So she and that paladin can keep an eye on her?" Abby scoffed. "That might buy us a week if Jaqlyn is dumb enough to send us out one at a time again. If she sends all four of us, and she will eventually, it wouldn't fucking matter."

"The elf makes stupid decisions where Phasilica is involved," Sihner nodded his head toward Tearle. "I could take Lisys the same way if I caught them outside the city. Inside, Abby or Saiynt could hold off the guard on her own."

"But you're huge," Tearle interjected suddenly, more strongly than she meant to. She sunk down in her chair a little when she realized that all eyes were on her, but this question had been building up inside of her for so long that it was almost erupting out of her mouth autonomously. "I mean, you _stepped on _her a minute ago," the priestess gestured weakly at Saiynt, "and even half that pressure would grind Jaqlyn's tiny bones to a powder, right? Why not... just... isn't it obvious to anyone else?!"

Half way through Tearle's desperate plea for logic, Saiynt and Angelina began giggling.

"Okay, okay, firs' of all, Jaqlyn is tougher'en she looks. Second, it just ain' work that way around here. Baby, we are in a giant floating... like... thing of individuals who is still loyal to the Lich King. While some back-stabbin' goes on, 'specially in the lower levels, Jaqlyn is def'nilly untouchable by'a likes of us."

"Third, it just _doesn't_ work that way here," Abby repeated seriously. "We do not have complete mastery of ourselves. The same necromancy that holds us together so much better than the lower-level Scourge acts as a charm. We could attack her, but at half-strength. If we managed to kill her, there's no real guarantee she wouldn't just come back. It's even difficult for us to kill one another," Abby shot Saiynt a nasty look, then turned her eyes back to Tearle. ".. and then there's Nadia."

"Nadia is what you're talking about right now?" Tearle asked.

Angelina nodded. "Yes. At the end of the day... Nadia is what really keeps us here. There are still people I care about out there, and that sentiment is repeated all around this room."

Tearle drummed her fingers on her knee, suddenly nervous, although she didn't know why. "So, who, or what... is Nadia?"

Saiynt giggled again, a grating sound, wagging her pointer finger in the air. "Y'know, y'know! I helped move Nadia twice now... so, we always gotta move'er in pieces, righ? So it takes two of us. So I got this ridiculous torso with all 'ese teeth stickin' out the neck, and it's all chain' up and heavy as hell, okay? And it was such a funny sit'iation, 'cuz they tol' me it was alive, but it never moved or nothin', and it certinly idn't look alive. But somehow, I know that the chains is useless, like, for show maybe? Or 'cuz it made whoever work wit'er feel better? Shit, Ionno, but I coul' tell it was like, somethin' about the bag she was in, just restin' on my back. I ain' know a ton about magic.

"So, it was a long trip, 'cross the whole fuckin' Eastern Kingdoms, an we had to keep the pieces so far apart, yeah? So it was borin', and I was startin' to think just like you, y'know? I thought, what'a hell even is this thing? An so, because she idn't seem that scary and because I'm fuckin' stupid, I just said aloud, like to myself sorta, _what the hell are ya, anyway?_ An' Mistah Xanthic is way behin' me and is yellin at me not to say nothin' to it, but he cain' stop me or come any closer, an' he's always too cautious, so I ignored 'im.

"So, I'm laughin' again because this whole thing is stupid, and this thing answers me in my head. She says, _I'm the end of all things. _Jus' like that, you know? Casual-like, just answerin' an honest question. Now, I consider myself pretty ballsy... or maybe I idn't believe it was really her, Ionno, but I answer, jus' to be a pain-in-the-ass, I say, _Nawh, that's me. _I'm _the end of all things._"

Saiynt looked down at her knees, wetting her thick lips. "The rest of the way, Mistah Xanthic is tryin' to yell somethin' at me, but he cain' yell good and I cain hear him, an I cain' slow down or stop. I never felt it move, but when we got there an' the necromancer took her off my back, her hand was wriggled out the top an' squeezing a han'full of my hair between white knuckles. I axe Mistah what he was yellin an'... He said he ain' remember.

"So... I was careful after that. The only thing she's scairt of is the dark, an she won' even move if it's dark... pitch dark, even are eyes is too bright. So we had to cover our eyes an go through this cave, several miles in the groun'... where someone else a'ready brought her food... some of these people amount to a hundred times'a four of us put together... an I dump her torso an walk back... Mistah gets the hard job," she turned to look at Sihner very seriously, then back to Tearle. "He dumps the other half and lights the torch. Once they's any light down there an the pieces are close, we own't have long to get out. But she likes living targets over dead ones."

Abby took over. "The torch will go out before she's done eating and then we have to go find her. Sometimes we have to pull her back apart, sometimes we don't. Even in one piece, she doesn't really resemble a human anymore. She looks like... I don't know, nothing, I guess. Something you might find dead on the road side, so you go look at it, but you can't tell, so you walk away. Something like that. I've never seen her move, but I don't think she can walk on two legs. So that's Nadia. A zombie or a creature or _the end of all things _or something. We just call her Nadia."

"I... see," Tearle leaned back, rubbing her arms. The way they talked about Nadia was more frightening than the story itself. As a young woman, Tearle's strong father was made mortal by a band of Scourge and a rusty blade. Having come to terms with the frailty of life, everyone seemed temporary until she met these people.

Her opinion of them was exaggerated; they held complete power over her life that they took for granted so much that the frivolous Angelina dressed her up like a toy. She had enough insight to know that she was incapable of thinking realistically about these people, but was still unable to adjust her outlook accordingly and gave up long ago. If these people—Sihner especially, because he was usually very practical—saw something to worry over in Nadia, then Tearle would worry, too. Tearle would worry a lot.

"What do you know about her?" Tearle gave Angelina a sidelong glance, thinking a necromancer could shed more light than the death knights.

"Nadia's power comes from the same place Jaqlyn's does, a curse. She mixed what she could salvage of Nadia with animal parts to make her more primal, but the mixture was too heavy on one end or the other, so the monster wasn't perfect. Avarett and Maria Crysis—"

"Maria Crysis?" Abby interrupted, nudging her father's shin with her foot.

Sihner's tone remained flat, but he still managed to seem irritated. "Are you going to ask me that every time?"

She nudged him again. "Not even just to spite your brother?"

"No, that would be like fucking Avarett."

Saiynt erupted into giggles again. This time, it was a relief to lighten the air instead of an annoyance. "Yeah! Jus put a little beard on'er, heehee... it's that shit-eatin' grin, 's'what it is."

When Tearle finally looked back to Angelina, the necromancer was still casting off a few giggles herself. "Abby! Shame on you, this is serious."

Tearle forced a laugh just to fit in. These people never let her forget how unstable they were, even for a minute.

Angelina turned and took Tearle's hands in her own. Picking at or re-arranging Tearle's clothes or features was almost a nervous habit for her. "My father and my aunt managed to wound Nadia, opening a hole where an infectious rot got in. Eventually, Nadia will disintegrate on her own. Jaqlyn could rebuild her with pieces of anyone, really, but she doesn't want to, because every piece of the original cursed individual that is removed will dilute her strength.

"From Jaqlyn's point of view, Lisys is the ideal source of replacement pieces, but until _recently_," Angelina shot quite the nasty look Sihner's way, "Jaqlyn did not know Lisys was still walking around. I would be next, except that Jaqlyn has an agreement to provide a tactician, something my sister and I studied heavily once upon a time... So long as Phasilica is inaccessible, I am off-limits. Saiynt isn't cursed, but happens to have suffered enough for minor patchwork... and here we are."

"Cursed?" Tearle furrowed her brow, watching Angelina pick carefully at her cuticles.

"It's a horseshit old wives' tale for another time," Abby answered.

Angelina laughed ironically. "Abby and Mister Xanthic don't believe in it. I didn't used to, either."

"I always fuckin' new it was real." Saiynt scoffed, resting her head against Sihner's arm.

"But anyway... that's all I can tell you. I haven't seen her for myself, yet." Angelina finished, taking a moment to inspect her work on Tearle's nails. "We ought to blacken these..."

"Yet?" Abby asked like a challenge.

The necromancer released Tearle's hands, heaving a sigh. "I need to know how quickly Nadia is rotting."

Sihner sat perfectly upright, suddenly more interested in the conversation, a common reaction from him whenever Angelina said something so over-the-moon-absurd that he needed to confirm she was serious. Tearle squirmed partway behind Angelina slowly, subconsciously, as tension in the room rose again.

"She's rotting pretty damn fast," Abby answered in the most finite way.

Tearle only knew that Angelina technically outranked the death knights because she had told the priestess so point-blank. The frequency that Abby and Sihner grudgingly gave in to her whining demands seemed uncanny before that, but the young necromancer never ordered them around like an authority figure, perhaps because their judgments were usually better and she knew it.

Angelina shook her head stubbornly. "That could mean anything to you—weeks or years. I need to see her so we know how practical it is to wait it out at this point."

"Look, Angie, norm'lly I'd agree with you, these two is way too fuckin' cautious," Saiynt pointed at Sihner and Abby with her thumbs, "but this is differn'. Really, you should... you should let this one go, yeah? We all still have people somewhere we care about, and... well, shit, we all used to make a livin' gettin' beat up and hit inn'a head and we'll defn'illy need you for all the scheming and shit later on."

"What do you think I'm trying to do? If Jaqlyn can fix Nadia before she dies, it's over. Jaqlyn will either dispatch us or let us wait around for the last shred of humanity in Arthas to die. He'll have more than enough tools to ruin _everything _in this one damned monster," Angelina crossed her arms, frowning. "Abby, we only stayed after Sylvanas broke away to prevent this. The last five years are pointless if we can't figure our next move."

Abby sighed. "How close do you have to get?"

"I have to see her heart."

"No." Sihner said, leaning forward with a paternal sternness.

"She can smell mana 'r somethin'." Saiynt sounded more sympathetic than forebidding. "An' she could just grab you an... like that," Saiynt snapped. "We couldn' help you against her."

Angelina gestured urgently with her hands. "She isn't as dangerous in pieces, right? Just pull her apart in the dark and bring her chest to me."

"We've never pulled her apart, that's always done by a necromancer a thousand times more powerful than you are. Besides, once above ground, Nadia has to stay in the bag until we're below again." Abby sounded exasperated. "If she gets dropped or anything goes wrong, all hell could break loose or... hell, I don't even know."

"I don't care if I die!" Angelina burst, balling her fists. "Take me to her. I just need enough time to tell you how long she has. After that, all three of you go to Phasillica immediately. She will know what to do next, but all of this needs to happen before Jaqlyn sends us after Lisys."

"Unless we all git killed," Saiynt scoffed. "Girl, I am tryin'a tell you that a secret visit to Jaqlyn's pet monster ain' a good fuckin' idea."

Abby lifted an eyebrow. "Why hasn't Jaqlyn sent us after Lisys, anyway? A day ago it seemed like she was done pissing around."

"That's an easy answer. Jaqlyn's in hot water over letting Nadia fall into such disrepair and is probably losing her _pissing around _privileges. That said, to her we're all like trophies or chips or," Angelina twirled her finger in the air thoughtfully, "fun little toys, powerless against her manipulation. She's even reluctant to give up Tearle. It will be difficult for her to convince the archnecromancer to let her bring another dead girl in here without letting go of someone else... but I assume she's wiling to spend a few more days looking for the way."

"Then you have time to come up with something," Abby said. The other two nodded in agreement, but Tearle knew better. Angelina hadn't failed in getting her way once yet.

That night, the young priestess was still awake when the deep plummet in temperature told her that it was really early morning, but most undead had erratic sleep schedules in this plague-infested, smoggy piece of former Lordaeron. For convenience, Tearle called whenever Angelina slept "night time," and tried to mirror her rhythm, but this night she had lots of catching up to do.

She furiously scribbled more disorganized facts she'd learned about the Old Horde from Abby earlier in the week, but had neglected to put down, and then began her analysis of Saiynt. Tearle was finally ready to start a whole chapter on Nadia, but when she turned the page she was disappointed to find there weren't any more. She cursed, because this leather bound book had been so difficult to come by—the majority of death knight population in the Acherus simply did not see the value in writing any thing down, and necromancers did not part with their own books—and she could not imagine finding another.

However, on that choice word, she noticed for the first time that she could see her breath, so she grudgingly stood to bury herself under the giant pile of fur next to the sleeping Angelina, a duvet like what one would expect on a queen's bed, lest she freeze to death. Crossing the room, she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror, and she stopped there until her feet and shins were numb.

It wasn't shocking to see herself in the guise of a cultist anymore; it was normal, necessary. She'd finally relented and allowed Angelina to pull her hair straight, mostly because it had stopped hurting, and it was perfectly sculpted back into a severe bun that contrasted heavily with her smeared makeup. This was the flawless picture of a damned woman—just the right blend of control and savagery.

Tearle thought about what she was soon to do: curl up next to an unashamed necromancer and fall asleep. She suspected that tonight, for the first time, she would rest just fine, or at least no worse than in a strange place surrounded by the Argent Dawn. Really, besides Jaqlyn, Saiynt was the only acquaintance she did not trust not to kill her in her sleep, but they had only just met and Saiynt was sort of a special case.

She did not feel as if she was being absorbed into this lifestyle, and she had learned and reinforced the lesson that her quasi-comrades did not want to be here themselves. But somehow all the same, she'd become tentatively comfortable here. She wanted to be worried by this discovery, but she simply couldn't force it. So she put it out of her mind and climbed into bed, rubbing her limbs furiously.

Angelina rolled over, yellow lights flickering very much like candles as she fluttered her eyelashes. "Tearle, dear, you weren't writing in that silly book this whole time... were you?" she yawned.

"It's not silly. I know a hundred Argent Crusaders off the top of my head who would give their fingers for this sort of look inside the Scourge... Actually, I could probably become a millionaire off of that book's entertainment value alone."

Angelina laughed sleepily. "Don't put down anything embarrassing, please? I would just die if... ahh..." she paused to yawn again, "if anyone knew I sometimes snort when I laugh."


End file.
